Cole in My Stocking (26 page)

Despite our rocky start, Stacey and I had hit it off. At lunch, we’d bonded over talking about our jobs. We both worked with women who had suffered abuse. Usually, by the time I got to them, any legal processes had come to an end. Stacey worked at the other end, sometimes literally dragging them out of the abusive situation. I’d worried she might bring up her work on the case that had grown to involve me and those other women the motorcycle gang had hurt, but she never did, which had made me like her even more.

I pulled the fresh stack of clothes over the door and said, “Thanks on the jeans. No thanks on the heels. These flats and the boots we found on the clearance rack will do me until I go home.”

No response meant she’d already left, probably headed straight for the heels.

Wriggling into the Levis, it occurred to me I hadn’t had this much fun picking out clothes since high school. I’d always loved shopping, and I still did, but since moving to Philly, I’d approached it with a critical eye. Did this outfit draw too much attention to my breasts? Was that outfit professional enough? Did it say,
you can trust me with all your problems
without saying,
I think I’m better than you
? Shopping for clothes had become a challenge to excel at rather than a feminine joy.

Stacey made it fun again. I’d found enough casual but stylish separates to keep me clothed for my stay. And knowing I had a hot boyfriend to dress for, I gravitated toward outfits that clung a little tighter and revealed just a tad more than I would otherwise feel comfortable with.

Stacey’s discoveries added a new pair of jeans and two more tops to the keep pile. While I stripped to redress in my Wal-Mart outfit, a pair of patent leather heels with a delicate ankle strap slid under the door, announcing Stacey’s return.

“Hello? What am I going to wear these with? It’s winter in New England, not Oscar season in L.A.” I nudged them back with my bare foot.

“Do you like them or not?” she said. We were having a footsie war shoving the shoes back and forth.

“That’s not the point. I can’t afford to buy anything frivolous.” I had a feeling my keep pile would put me well over whatever amount Dad’s homeowner insurance might reimburse me for the clothing I’d lost.

“Killjoy. Just try them on. This too.” She flung a garment over the top of the door.

I pulled it down and held it in front of myself in the mirror. I immediately fell in love. It was a sleeveless V-neck dress in navy blue satin with a floral accent winding its way up one shoulder. Not only was the dress Cole’s favorite color, if his home décor was anything to go by, but its ruched draping and knee-length hem appeased my modest side. I didn’t know how much it was, and I didn’t have anyplace to wear it, but I wanted it.

“Be honest. You love it.”

“You’re the devil.” I peeked at the price tag. The sale price was a little more than the Oakleys I’d bought for Cole, which wasn’t bad for a dress of this quality, but out of my price range nevertheless. “I can’t afford it.”

“That’s not the point.” I heard the smile in her voice as she echoed back my words. “Just try it on. And let me see when you’re done. The shoes too.”

I indulged her, and myself, and donned the dress and shoes. “Help me zip?” I opened the door and held my hair up so she could seal me into the satin sheath. It fit perfectly, although I could have done without the inch of cleavage it revealed. I tried to wiggle the bodice up while Stacey ogled my reflection over my shoulder. The heels made me about five inches taller, so we were almost the same height.

I blinked, startled, as the brunette in the formal blue dress held her own compared to the confident blonde whose beauty I’d found so intimidating a few hours ago.

“You look like a million bucks,” Stacey said. “You have to get it.”

“Have you seen my student loans? I can’t get it. But it is awesome. You have a good eye.”

Stacey sighed. “Well, at least you tried it on. Go on, take it off. I’ll put it back.”

Taking that dress off and watching it disappear over the edge of the door left a sour feeling in my stomach. I consoled myself with my armload of casual clothes. I couldn’t wait for Cole to see me in each and every ensemble.

Later, Stacey found me over by the intimates. I had gravitated toward the simple, unadorned collections and had a few bras picked out to try on. Thanks to my Wal-Mart trip, I had a set of six cotton bikini undies, but I would need at least one other bra while I was here. In fact, at these sale prices, I should buy several. I liked to replace my bras every year or so because over time, they tended to grow lighter on support. My girls liked support.

“What are you doing?” Stacey asked, glaring at the sober tan, white, and black cotton numbers draped over my arm.

“I need bras.”

“Those aren’t bras. Those are birth control.”

“Ha, ha. I’ve already got that covered, if you recall.” After lunch, we’d stopped at a pharmacy. Even though I’d tried to be discreet about it, Stacey had figured out why we’d had to kill an extra ten minutes once I’d collected all the toiletries on my list, so the pharmacist could fill the prescription I’d lost in the fire. I wasn’t sexually active, but being on the pill gave me regular periods, whereas I tended to be unpredictable otherwise. I’d tried not to think about needing those pills for anything else while I was living with Cole. Tried and failed.

“Exactly,” she said. “So you don’t need a bra that says, ‘not tonight, honey.’ Put those atrocities back.” Without waiting for me to comply, she dragged me to a section with lacy, colorful bras and matching thongs and bikinis.

I had heart palpitations just looking at the lingerie. “No way.” I backed away from the display. If my hands had been free, I would have made the sign of the cross.

Her manner changed. Stacey liked to have fun and tease, but she knew when I was genuinely uncomfortable. “Oh,” she said, as if it had just occurred to her I might have insecurities about sexy underwear. Could she guess it wasn’t the underwear itself that bothered me but the suggestion that a man might see it and want something from me I didn’t want to give?

The joy of shopping fizzled into dread. I was living with Cole. I had his key in my purse. His gun at my side. I’d hung around in his bathrobe this morning while I’d made some calls. On the surface, we looked like a normal couple, but we weren’t. How could we ever be, when the thought of him seeing me in a sexy, little bra and a scrap of underwear filled me with terror?

“You want me to give you some privacy while you shop for underwear?” Stacey asked.

I nodded.

“Okay, hon. I’ll go browse for myself. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks near the food court in half an hour?”

I forced a smile. “Sounds good.”

“Maybe just get one really beautiful pair? Since you couldn’t swing the dress today? You deserve it after everything you’ve been through. A treat just for you.” She gave me an encouraging smile and left me to my boring bras.

After trying on my sober selections and choosing two keepers, I decided to take a second look at the pretty ones. A black trimmed, emerald green bra with a demi cut and removable straps caught my eye. It was paired on the rack with a matching thong and a bikini brief. I’d never worn underwear like this before, not even when I used to wear my mother’s clothes. I fingered the lace, wondering how it would feel against my skin. Rough, I bet.

I was pretty sure Stacey had meant I deserved a pretty pair of underwear after the fire and Dad’s funeral, but I couldn’t help thinking about my assault. I hadn’t dressed to be intentionally pretty since that night. Maybe I did deserve a nice pair of underwear. Just for me. No one else ever had to see me in it.

Gulping down a lump of nerves, I grabbed the bra and thong and returned to the fitting room. My breasts were smaller than they’d been in high school, but they were still on the generous side for my petite frame. I wore a D in most bra-styles. As I fitted hooks to loops behind my back, I felt the undergarment lift and squeeze. All fastened up, I faced the mirror and blushed.

I looked beautiful.

The demi cups made perfect twin globes of my breasts and gave me amazing cleavage. They were cut so low a hint of my areolas showed above the black lace, which was softer than it looked. So often, when I glimpsed my naked form in a mirror, I couldn’t help remembering the bruises on my breasts that had taken more than a week to fade. I wasn’t thinking about the bruises now, except to acknowledge they were long gone and never going to come back.

I smiled at my reflection and bit my lip.

I should have let myself try on pretty underwear a long time ago.

* * * *

Stacey exited the freeway in Merrimack. The back seat of her Outback was overflowing with shopping bags, and I was pleasantly weary after a full day of spending money I wasn’t sure I actually had.

Merrimack’s strip malls gave way to fenced pastures and agricultural businesses, like the Agway with its rows of wheelbarrows and tractors lined up outside and the Equestrian supply store that had an enormous statue of a palomino horse out front. The landscape felt familiar, but many of the details had changed. A sporting goods store had become a seafood restaurant. A Gulf gas station had become a 76 and had expanded to include a shiny new minimart. The section of road at the turn-off for Whippoorwill Drive had been widened to include a turning lane.

Memory assaulted me as Stacey zipped past Whippoorwill. My high-school friend Jenny had lived half a mile down and on the left. We used to play X-Box in her basement to kill the couple of hours between school letting out and her mom getting home from work. In related news, those had also been the hours Dad tended to be sober and therefore grumpy. Once I’d gotten a part-time job and the beast, I’d done my best never to get home before six, when Dad would inevitably have a few beers under his belt. Jenny’s had been one of my favorite places to hang out. Until I’d learned what her mother thought of me.

It all happened so fast. Jenny had gone upstairs to get us some Mountain Dews. I’d heard the kitchen door and known her mother had just arrived home. I’d started up the stairs to say hello but froze when I heard her mother say, “That trailer trash girl isn’t here today, is she? Nick is coming for dinner, and I don’t need him thinking I let my kid hang out with the town tramp.”

My heart had shriveled in my chest. I’d snuck back down the stairs and pretended I hadn’t heard, but I’d never gone to Jenny’s house again. I’d felt unwanted enough in my own home, I didn’t need to feel that way at my friends’ houses too.

After moving to Philly, I’d never felt unwanted again. I’d met Heather my freshman year at Arcadia. She was a red-haired, freckle-faced, outgoing bundle of energy, and we’d been inseparable from day one. She had a way about her that made anyone she talked to feel like they were the most important person in the room. She was the first adult friend I’d made and the first woman to welcome me into her orbit with open arms.

Heather had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and by proxy, they became mine too. Making adult friends in a welcoming, academic community proved addicting to a girl who had grown up misunderstood in a small, judgmental town. In Philly, I found deep fulfillment in a calmer, more grown-up form of socializing than I’d known in high school. Sushi dinners, study parties, picnics at Penn Park, and coffee dates at The Gallery had taken the place of drinking at the quarry and playing video games in basements that smelled like pot.

A pang of homesickness prickled in my chest. My fingers itched to call Heather, but we’d already talked this morning. I’d wait and call her tomorrow while Cole was working. Talking to my best friend would be a welcome distraction from the slog of estate duties that awaited me.

Stacey turned onto Cole’s road. “You’re awfully quiet over there. Dish, girlfriend. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Just thinking about home.”

She shook her head. “Sucks that it burned to the ground. Did Gripper keep any valuables inside, I mean besides the guns in the safe?”

For a second, I thought Stacey was changing the subject. Then I realized she’d just misunderstood what I’d meant by
home
. “Yeah, it does suck, and no valuables really, I mean his entertainment system, I guess. But I was thinking about Philly. My home now, not the place I grew up.”

Stacey looked sideways at me. “Oh.” After a beat she asked, “When will you go back?”

“I took two weeks off work, so pretty soon after New Year’s is the goal.” January first was less than a week away. I expected to feel eager as I imagined returning to my friends, my job, my cozy little apartment, and my familiar routine. But it wasn’t eagerness I felt. A pain in my chest flared with such strength it made that prickle of homesickness seem almost insignificant.

Returning to Philly would mean leaving Cole behind.

He’d assured me the distance wouldn’t be a problem, but I didn’t see how an LDR could be sustained in the long term. My returning to Philly would spell the end for us. Whether it took a few weeks or a few Skype-assisted months, it was bound to happen.

“You’re sticking with that, huh?” Stacey said. “Even now that you and Cole are together?”

“Of course. I have a life to get back to. Cole knows that. And trust me, Newburgh will be glad to see me go.”

She pulled into Cole’s driveway. His lights were on.

My pulse sped up at the thought of seeing him after so many hours apart.

Pulling to a stop in front of the garage, she said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my reputation in this town stinks. They’ll probably throw a party when I leave.”

Stacey channeled my dad when she gave me a furrow-browed, mouth-twisting grimace that said she thought I was a complete idiot. She killed the ignition but made no move to get out of the car. “What are you talking about? I don’t live here, but I know a lot of people in this town. I can’t think of a single person who thinks poorly of you.”

I ticked off fingers. “Tooley called me an ungrateful daughter and accused me of trying to cheat him out of Dad’s business, half the cops at Dad’s funeral gave me the stink eye, the other half ignored me, Gonzo thoughtfully reminded me how wild I’d been in high-school, oh, and someone burned down Dad’s place and called me
trash
. Does that sound like someone with a sterling reputation? Now I’m shacking up with Cole. That’s going to go over well when the news gets out. This town hates me.”