Page 60 of The Curse of Indy Moore
He waited as if he expected me to answer. Hecouldanswer. Mr. Hawthorne could move through this store and carelessly point out what he desired. Actually, knowing him, he would buy every piece in the store and know what to wear with it, but not me. Fashion never mattered to me. None of this mattered to me. Caring about my appearance, about dresses and jewels, was a luxury afforded to few.
“I don’t know what I like.” I removed the necklace to return to the display case. “How is this part of the experiment?”
“Because you’re lying.” Mr. Hawthorne leaned forward, bringing that scent of coffee and crisp paper. The aroma enveloped him, soothing as a blanket on a winter night. His eyes had such an unnatural color, a green so dark they nearly became obsidian mirrors, threatening to reflect every piece of oneself.
“Carline brought up the dresses. She mentioned jewels. She knew you wanted them, that like most people, you want something luxurious and otherworldly at least once. So why did she bring that up?” he inquired.
“Because she is trying to steal my soul. She’s… breaking me down.” Her appearance here proved that. She took pleasure in making me second guess my decision to evade her.
“And she almost succeeded because you don’t want to admit to something so simple.”
I grabbed my wrist where my nails tore across the skin. “It’s not simple.”
“Why do you say that?”
I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to be here, but when I tried to leave, he stood in the way.
“You cannot run from this. It will not end well for you,” he whispered. “She’s pushing you, and she will succeed if you keep avoiding the truth.”
Agreeing to his demands was one thing. Thinking I could obey had been another. And standing there trapped by his questions, Carline’s curse, and my own turbulent emotions were entirely another. We liked to believe we would do what was in our best interest always, but our heart and our minds were not always one. They battled, like mine did so at that moment, struggling to reply or even put this strangling feeling into words.
“I don’t know why I feel this way,” I finally admitted, and the words felt like the truth seeping from an unhealed wound. “I see all of this and I get nervous, like I shouldn’t be here and I’ll get into trouble. As I look around, you told me to pick out what I like, but I have no idea.”
“You have never imagined anything like this, not even once?”
The memory came in an instant, a smile, too, neither happy nor sad. “My mother and I worked in a sewing factory. From dawn to dusk, we worked on the mundane to the elaborate. She was obviously more skilled than I was and constructed the most beautiful garments. None of those garments were for us. We couldn’tpossibly afford it, but one evening, she worked on a dress for a girl my age, about my size, and so she let me try it on.”
The fabric was lavish, soft as could be, stitched so perfectly with long sleeves and a puffy skirt. In the eyes of a child, that was the dress of a princess, of the most beautiful girl at the ball that would turn everyone’s heads and command admiration. I never felt more beautiful or strong than in that moment, standing in front of a mirror in the back of the factory to look upon a stranger, one I so envied.
Mother smiled and kissed my cheek. Back then, I thought she was as thrilled as me. As an adult, I understood her smile was pained, that the way her eyes watered wasn’t only from exhaustion but also from realization. All she could do was let me wear a pretty dress we could never afford. Deep down, she must have felt awful, as I felt awful when my cousins wanted more that we couldn’t give.
“What happened next?” Miss Beamy encouraged.
“Our warehouse manager walked in. He had forgotten something in his office and had a fit. We were nearly fired on the spot, but no one else knew what happened, so he reprimanded us. It was a reminder not to hope for the unachievable, to accept who and what you are,” I replied, thinking of that silly girl crying afterward, wishing she could have been that princess for a little longer.
“And who are you?” Mr. Hawthorne asked.
“I’m not a princess or an elegant lady of court. I am nobody, but nobody with a home and a full belly most nights. I don’t need more than that, and it is pointless to want more.”
His expression darkened. “You deserve more. Everyone does.”
“To desire so wantonly is a form of greed that will be the death of you if you do not battle it.”
Mr. Hawthorne smiled something wicked and pressed his fingers beneath my chin. “Is desire truly so troublesome?”
My heart skipped a beat before his hand fell to trace the outline of gems beneath the surface.
“Is it so wrong for someone to doll themselves up for a date or a night out? To simply make themselves feel good?” he asked.
“But not everyone does that. Many have for the sake of having, and people like that don’t doll themselves up once or twice. They thrive off it while sneering at us in the streets for not being able to afford even a pinch of their lifestyles.”
“How does that have anything to do with you?”
“I don’t…” My scratching broke skin, causing a thin trail of blood to drip from my wrist. I held a hand over to staunch it. “I don’t want to become like that, someone who doesn’t appreciate what they have, who looks down on others for what they do not have.”
Mr. Hawthorne laughed. “I do not believe you will ever have to worry about that.”
“You aren’t for certain. I bet many people thought the same before they were given more than they ever needed. Before they realized it, they lost themselves among their endless treasures.”
