Paige snapped:
“Then she leaves this house.”
Delia picked up her bag.
“Please thank Mrs. Whitlow for me.”
Julian looked at her.
“You’re still going to finish the suit?”
“I was hired to.”
She swallowed.
“I never even met her.”
Upstairs, Eleanor lowered her eyes.
Earl stood beside her.
“You saw who planted it?”
“No.”
“Brynn?”
“She was closest.”
“One word from you ends it.”
Eleanor looked toward Julian below.
“My word against that girl’s tears.”
“She framed Delia.”
“And Julian still hasn’t seen enough.”
Earl frowned.
“How much does he need?”
Eleanor’s expression hardened.
“Tomorrow morning, I go see that child myself.”
Delia was repairing her mother’s old sewing machine when Eleanor entered the shop the next morning.
“Ma’am?”
Delia smiled despite everything.
“How did you find me?”
“Name stitched on your bag.”
Eleanor held up an envelope.
“I came to pay what I owe on that dress.”
“You don’t owe me.”
“Tea?”
Delia laughed.
“That’s my line.”
She poured two cups.
Eleanor looked around Odessa Alterations.
One cutting table.
One old Singer industrial machine.
Faded photographs.
A sign nobody could read from the street.
“So this is it?”
“Family business.”
Delia touched the machine.
“Mama sewed collars in the mill eleven years before she owned one machine.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I know that kind of woman.”
The bell above the door rang.
Paige Prescott entered.
Delia stood.
“Miss Prescott.”
Paige looked around.
“So this is what Julian feels sorry for?”
Delia’s face tightened.
“Please go.”
Paige touched the old shop sign.
“One table.”
She laughed.
“That old thing.”
Her hand landed on the sewing machine.
“Please don’t touch that.”
“Odessa.”
Paige read the name painted on the side.
“Cute.”
Then she shoved the machine.
It fell.
Metal crashed against the floor.
Delia screamed.
“Mama!”
She dropped to her knees.
Eleanor stood.
“That’s enough, young lady.”
Paige looked at her.
Recognition.
“The old woman from the bridal shop.”
She laughed.
“Look at that. You two found each other.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“What are you doing?”
Paige tilted her head.
“What? Does she sleep in your doorway now?”
Then she looked at Eleanor.
“Sit down, Granny, before you break a hip.”
Paige walked out.
Delia remained kneeling beside the machine.
The casing had cracked.
A wheel bent.
The stand twisted.
Eleanor crouched.
Delia touched the broken metal.
“Maybe she’s right.”
“No.”
“Every time I stand up straight, I lose something.”
“Delia—”
“My job.”
She swallowed.
“My name.”
Then touched the machine.
“Now Mama’s machine.”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
“She hemmed half this neighborhood on it.”
“I’m closing the shop.”
Eleanor took her hand.
“I sewed collars in a mill for eleven years.”
