The Perfect Dress(5)

“I think we should wear a big old southern hat, too,” Tabby said.

“No, Mother says Lizzy is having fresh rosebud circlets made for our hair, with burgundy ribbons down the back,” Dixie reminded her. “Maybe we should go barefoot, paint our toenails black, and wear toe rings. Daddy, can we get henna tattoos on our shoulders that say wild girls?”

“You cannot,” Graham said, raising his voice a notch.

“Well, rats,” Dixie said. “Then how about we get two-piece dresses and pierce our belly buttons? We could get one of those . . .”

“No!” Graham’s voice went up another octave.

“Then let’s do formfitting pink-satin dresses with a side slit up to our . . .”

Graham’s palms went up in a flash. “That’s enough, ladies. I don’t want to hear about slits up to wherever. I’m going to work, and your job today is to finish unpacking, get your bedrooms organized, and do your laundry. I’ll call as soon as I talk to the lady at the dress shop, but it might be this afternoon. I don’t know what time she opens, and I’d like to talk to her in person. I can’t imagine why she’d put a place like that in Celeste.”

“Me, either, but I’m sure glad she did,” Dixie said.

“Especially if she says yes.” Tabby nodded. “Text us when you know something? That way if they can see us anytime today, we can walk down there.”

“Will do.” Graham picked up his briefcase and headed out the back door.

He drove down Main Street to the dress shop, saw that it wouldn’t be open for another thirty minutes, and called his secretary, Vivien, who told him that he had meetings starting at nine that morning with each of the departments of his family’s Cadillac dealership. That meant he’d have to take care of the dress business during his lunchtime. Maybe if the shop owners could set up an appointment, he’d have time to run by his new house and tell the girls.

He made it to work with five minutes to spare before his first meeting and greeted Vivien with a wave as he walked inside the dealership.

“The Service Department is in the conference room.” She handed him a folder. “I’ll buzz in with a reminder in forty-five minutes. That way you can wrap this one up and have a short break before the Finance Department arrives.”

“Couldn’t run this place without you.” Graham meant what he said. His dad had died last year and left him the dealership, lock, stock, and barrel. Vivien—a forty-year company veteran—helped make a smooth transition.

“Your daddy used to say the same crazy thing. Everyone is replaceable.” When Vivien grinned, her wrinkles deepened and her brown eyes became slits. Graham remembered a time when her hair had been black, but now it was streaked with gray. She hadn’t talked about retiring, but she was pushing seventy.

He patted her on the shoulder. “You aren’t everyone, darlin’.”

Without even a reminder from Vivien, the last meeting finished fifteen minutes early. She’d already gone to lunch when he headed out the door to make the drive from Greenville to Celeste. Not knowing if the dress shop closed for an hour at noon, he drove faster than the speed limit and arrived with fifteen minutes to spare.

Since the business was in a house, he wasn’t sure whether to ring the doorbell, knock, or just walk in. He chose the latter and found no one sitting behind a desk. Instead, a tall red-haired woman with the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen poked her head out around a doorjamb.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I hope so,” he said. “I just moved here, and my twin daughters need bridesmaid dresses in July. Would you have time to make something for them by then?”

Those eyes looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember having ever met her. Maybe they just reminded him of Rita’s, since they’d been talking about her that morning.

She came out into the room and motioned for him to have a seat. The plush, pink sofa enveloped him—fairly comfortable for a man his size, but he was sure glad his girls weren’t there with their cameras.

“I’m Graham Harrison.” He focused on a place over her left shoulder to keep from looking right at her eyes. “My daughters aren’t petite little things. The bride said anything would work as long as the dresses matched and they were cotton candy . . . no, that’s not right.” He stumbled over the words. “Bubblegum pink.”

The lady sat down across from him. “I’m Mitzi Taylor, and yes, we make bridesmaids dresses in sizes fourteen and up. How old are these girls?”

“Fifteen—size sixteen in jeans. Like I said, they’re not little girls. They’re almost six feet tall and what folks call ‘big girls.’” He almost blushed. A dad shouldn’t have to know those things or their shoe size or their favorite deodorant, but when he’d had to be both mother and father, there was no choice.

“And I can see why.” Mitzi’s blue eyes seemed to size him up for height.

“So can we make an appointment with you? And will you have time to do that kind of thing before July?” he asked.

“Budget?” She fidgeted with a notepad.

“Whatever they want is fine,” he answered.

“Okay then, let me check the calendar. I don’t think we’ve got any appointments after three today. Do they go to school here in Celeste?”