Page 115 of The Housekeeper

“I don’t care who it is. Who spends three thousand dollars on a skirt?”

“Lots of people,” Tracy said. “And now, so do you.”

“I can’t. No way.”

“Oh, come on. My treat, remember? Or Dad’s treat. Whatever. You can at least try it on. Don’t worry. It looks kind of small. It probably won’t fit.” She signaled for the saleswoman. “She’s gonna try this on. And this, too,” she said, pulling at a gorgeous brown silk shirt and holding it up against me. “Perfect. You will be the best-dressed Realtor in town. Give that witch Stephanie Pickering a run for her money.”

I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—that I was agreeing to try on the ridiculously overpriced skirt and blouse or that Tracy had actually been paying attention to the conversation in the lawyer’s office and remembered Stephanie’s name.

“See anything else you like?” Tracy asked me.

“I think this is plenty.”

“In that case, follow me.”

Tracy led me toward the dressing rooms, where our clothes were already hanging up and waiting. “Holler when you’re ready,” Tracy said as we disappeared inside our respective cubicles.

I stood for several seconds in the mirrorless cubbyhole,debating whether to bother trying the clothes on. There was no way I was actually going to let Tracy buy them, no matter whose money she’d be spending. Still, I have to admit that I was curious as to how the skirt and blouse would look. And what harm could it do to try them on?

“How are you doing in there?” Tracy called after several minutes.

“Not quite ready.” I removed my coat and unzipped my blue wool dress, letting both fall to the floor. Seconds later, I was pushing my arms into the sleeves of the brown silk shirt and doing up its faux pearl buttons—which I decided would look great with my faux pearl necklace—then stepping into the camel-colored skirt, pleased beyond reason when it zipped up without even a hint of difficulty. “Okay, I’m ready,” I announced, eager to see myself in a mirror.

“Wow!” Tracy exclaimed as I emerged. “You look fantastic.”

I spun toward the mirror at the end of the narrow hall, amazed at what I saw. Tracy was right. Ididlook fantastic.

“What about me?” she asked, twirling around. “How doIlook?”

“Beautiful, as always.”

Tracy beamed. “Isn’t this the most gorgeous dress you’ve ever seen?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“We’ll take everything,” Tracy told the saleswoman.

“No,” I demurred. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you most certainly can,” Tracy insisted, handing over her credit card. “You don’t treat yourself nearly enough, and you deserve nice things.”

I was both flattered and touched by the unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”

“I’ll put this through and meet you back at the counter when you’re ready,” the saleswoman said.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Tracy said. “But I’m feeling a whole lot better than I did an hour ago.”

I laughed. The truth was that I was feeling pretty good myself.

We got dressed in our street clothes and approached the counter where the saleswoman was ringing up the sale.

“Is there a problem?” Tracy asked after a wait of several minutes.

“I’m afraid your card has been declined,” the woman said, barely managing to suppress a smile.

“That’s impossible. I shop here all the time.”

“I’ve tried to put it through several times.”