Nordstrom.
Lauren had never owned anything from that venerable Seattle landmark. Heck, she couldn’t afford a cup of coffee at the kiosk outside the store. She took a step back.
Angie unzipped a bag and pulled out a long black dress, then turned to her. “What do you think?”
The dress was halter style, with rhinestones at the throat and a double band of bigger stones at the waistline. The fabric was slippery. Silk probably.
“What do I think?” Lauren couldn’t borrow something like that. What if she spilled on it?
“You’re right. Too mature. This is a fun night.” Angie dropped the dress on the floor and went back to garment bags, burrowing through them in a frenzy.
Lauren bent down and picked up the fallen gown. The material caressed her fingers. She’d never touched fabric so soft.
“Aha!” Angie withdrew another gown; pink this time, the dainty color of a scallop shell. The fabric was heavier, some kind of knit that could expand or contract to fit a woman’s—or a girl’s—body. It was a single sleeveless tank front with a deeply plunging back. “It has a built-in bra. Not that seventeen-year-old breasts need a bra.”
Angie pulled out another dress; this one was emerald green with long sleeves and an off-the-shoulder neckline. It was gorgeous, but Lauren’s gaze returned to the pink knit.
“How much did that one cost?” she dared to ask.
Angie glanced at the pink dress and smiled. “This old thing? I got it at the Rack. No, it was at that secondhand store on Capitol Hill.”
Lauren couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, right.”
“So it’s the pink, yes?”
“I might damage it. I couldn’t—”
“The pink.” Angie hung the black and green dresses back up, then slung the pink one over her arm. “Shower time.”
Lauren followed behind Angie as she tossed the gown on the bed, then headed for the master bathroom.
“Do you have shoes?”
Lauren nodded.
“What color?”
“Black.”
“We can make that work,” Angie said as she turned the shower on. “I could knit a sweater in the amount of time it takes to heat the water around here.” She started grabbing bottles and jars from the cabinet. “This is an exfoliant. You know what that is, don’t you?”
At Lauren’s nod, Angie reached for something else.
“This is a hydrating mask. It helps my skin. Makes me look ten years younger.”
“That would make me a kindergartner.”
Angie laughed and shoved the products in Lauren’s arms. “Take a shower, then we’ll do your hair and makeup.”
Lauren took the longest, most luxurious shower of her life. There were no pinging pipes, no water that came and went and suddenly turned cold. She used all the expensive products, and when she came out she felt brand-new. She dried her hair, then wrapped herself in a thick, oversized white towel and returned to the bedroom.
Angie was sitting on the edge of the bed. There was a pile of accessories around her—hairbrushes and makeup, curling irons and handbags and wraps. “I found a beaded black shawl and a black evening bag, and this!” She held up a beautiful pink and black butterfly hair clip. “Come on, sit down. My sisters and I used to do each other’s hair for hours.” She tossed a pillow onto the floor in front of her.
Lauren dutifully sat down, her back to the bed.
Angie immediately started brushing her hair. It felt so good Lauren actually sighed. She couldn’t remember ever having her hair brushed. Even when her mother took the time to cut Lauren’s hair, there was no brushing involved.
“Okay,” Angie said after a while, “now sit on the bed.”
Lauren changed positions. Angie knelt in front of her. “Close your eyes.”
The whisper-soft touch of eye shadow … a flicking of blush.
“I’m going to put some sparkle on your throat. I bought it for my niece, but Mira said it was inappropriate … There,” she said a moment later. “All done.”
Lauren stood up and slipped into the dress. Angie zipped her up.
“Perfect,” Angie said, sighing. “Go look.”
Slowly, Lauren walked toward the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the closed door.
She gasped. The gown fit her beautifully, made her look like a princess from one of the storybooks she’d never read. For the first time in her life, she looked like all the other girls at school.
ELEVEN
Angie stood in front of her dresser. The top drawer was open. There, buried among the bras and panties and socks, was her camera.
To take photos of my grandbabies, Mama had said when she’d given Angie the camera.