Page 96 of Hockey Wife

“Thankfully they won. And you’re so lucky that puck didn’t land an inch lower.” Debbie took her by the arm and led her inside. A woman Georgia didn’t recognize walked by with a lunch tray and headed into Jim’s room.

“Who’s that?” Though she had her suspicions.

“You know how I said I was trying to get home help? Well, this new charity sent someone over. I’ve applied to so many that I didn’t even remember this one.”

“That’s great news.” After the usual charitable sources had tapped out, Georgia arranged something anonymously with an agency. She wasn’t sure how long she could continue to pay for this, but if it gave Debbie a break, then that was all that mattered.

“So I have a favor to ask,” Debbie said.

“Anything.”

Debbie brought her upstairs to a room, where several outfits lay in a messy heap on the bed.

“I have a job interview tomorrow. I know I might not have this help for long, but between that and Mick, I’m hoping I can get back on the market.”

“Oh, that’s exciting. What’s it for?”

“A receptionist at a law firm downtown. But it’s been a while since I’ve been, well, anywhere, and all my clothes are kind of out of date. I thought maybe I could match this”—she picked up a brown skirt with pleats and a peach blouse with anchors all over it—“with this. What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Debs, but that’s just hideous.”

The poor woman groaned. “I know.”

“Now what kind of place is this? Not all law firms are fuddy duddy where everyone has to wear suits.”

“The partners are kind of hot, actually.” She showed Georgia the firm’s website, where the evidence affirmed that they were indeed hot.

“Kind of younger. Divorce lawyers. Smartly dressed.” She didn’t add that these guys were wearing four-thousand-dollar suits. Not that their receptionist would be expected to match that, but Debbie was going to have to do better.

After a quick perusal of the paltry offerings in the woman’s closet, Georgia made an executive decision.

“Can you get away for an hour or so?”

Three hours later, Georgia got in her car, waved at Debbie, and set off for home. The aspiring receptionist was now in possession of a couple of business-casual blazers, a tweed pencil skirt, a belted A-line skirt, three silk shells in jewel tones, and a pretty azure blue blouse. Three years ago, Georgia had interned at an advertising agency, a gig purely to please her parents who had wondered what to do with her after she graduated college. To prepare, she’d bought a few classic pieces that weren’t really her style, and now they had a new owner.

“I can’t take these.” Debbie had run her hand over the tweed skirt, then snatched it back like she’d been caught guiltily enjoying the fabric. “I can borrow them, but that’s it.”

“Sure,” Georgia lied, knowing they were going to a much more deserving home. “Now how about shoes?”

Turned out they were roughly the same size in skirts but not footwear, so they went shopping. This is just as fun for me as it is for you, she’d insisted as they scanned the shoe section of Nordstrom’s. Not a lie in the slightest.

“When’s the last time you bought clothes or something for yourself?”

“It’s hard to find the time.” Debbie didn’t add “money” but Georgia heard it all the same.

When a family member was ill, it tended to take over the lives of everyone in their orbit. Not a criticism of the sick person, just an observation. With Dani as her family’s focus, Georgia had sometimes marveled at how much energy was expended in service to one individual.

And Georgia’s family had the wealth and resources to make Dani’s life as comfortable as possible and ensure that Georgia wasn’t completely forgotten. She had horse-riding and ballet lessons, spa treatments and birthday parties, overseas trips and beautiful gifts. With a steady stream of nannies and drivers, there was always someone to eat dinner with, pick her up from school, even attend recitals and plays when her parents had to take Dani in for check-ups or be at her bedside after a procedure.

But for someone like Debbie, who spent all her time caregiving and rarely had help, when did she get a shot at me-time?

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Debbie said after she’d checked the underside of the fiftieth pair of shoes. “It’s one thing to borrow clothes, but for you to buy shoes …”

“If you were able to squeeze into mine, I would have happily handed off a pair. But you don’t have to get anything expensive. These ones are only”—she held up a pair of Franco Sarto’s pumps—“$120.” Realizing that sounded rather elitist, she moved on to the more sensible, and likely cheaper, options. “These very ugly Naturalizers are $65 on sale, but I will never forgive you if you buy them.”

Debbie laughed. “I’m sure we can find something that doesn’t stop you from talking to me.”

As Georgia watched the sales assistant fussing over Debbie and bringing her low-heeled, office-appropriate shoes to try on, her phone buzzed.

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