Page 32 of That's Not My Name

It only takes me a few minutes to fill my arm with things I like. A couple black T-shirts, a long-sleeved eggplant-colored shirt, a loose-fitting gray sweater, a soft black shirt with tiny white horizontal stripes, and a maroon plaid button-down, along with several pairs of black leggings in thecorrectsize, and two pairs of dark jeans that might fit. I’m fairly sure of everything else.

At the end of the last rack of shirts in my size, I slide a sequined pink monstrosity out of the way, and a tabby cat stares back at me. Not a real one. It’s a plastic decal printed on a white sweater, but the cat looks alarmingly real with its big yellow eyes. I start to slide it aside but I can’t stop staring at it.

Suddenly, the cat is moving, except it’s not on a shirt anymore. It’s on a long red sofa. The cat walks along the arm, then curls around and around before it settles and goes to sleep.

Then I’m right back in the thrift store.

I suck in a breath and practically fling the cat-shirt away from me in surprise.

Okay.O-kay.

That…felt like a memory. I think? We must have a red sofa back at the McMinnville house. He hasn’t mentioned any pets though.

Hope flutters through my stomach.

Wayne appears at my elbow. “That’s a terrifying cat.”

I nod, but I’m too lost in the maybe-memory. “Do we have any pets?”

He scoffs. “No. God, no. I’m crazy allergic. Cats and dogs.”

“Oh.” Poof, there goes the hope. Not our cat then. Maybe it was a memory from a friend’s house?

Wayne leans in to check out my selections, and frowns. “Are you planning to attend a funeral? Where’s all the color?”

I look from him to the clothes. “What do you mean?”

“What’s with all the black? You’re a colorful person, kiddo. You like bright colors and florals and…well, this,” he says, plucking another hanger off the rack. It’s a peach tank top with a lace overlay.

Peach.

Oh, dear god.

“You don’t have to dress like a vampire just because we’re staying in the forest. It’s not Forks.” He laughs at his own joke and holds out the hanger with the hideous peach tank top. “Try this one on.”

I try not to make a face. “Um, it’s a little cold for tank tops. Maybe in the spring?”

Or never.

He looks down at me and his frown deepens, so I reach forward and grab the tank top. “You know, it’s fine. It’s hot inside the house anyway, so I’m sure I can still wear it.”

Undersomething.

I add it to my pile. First the floral jacket and now I’m a peach person?

We wander to the shoe section where I avoid the black options in favor of a gently used pair of white sneakers he has no objection with. After a quick trip to the dressing room to try on the jeans, I have everything I need. In and out in twenty minutes. Shopping with me is a breeze.

The old woman beams at me when I load my stack onto the counter. “Did you find everything you needed today?”

“Almost.” I snag a couple packages of ankle socks and a generic package of underwear by the checkout that makes Wayne blushfuriously. At the last minute I add another beanie. A white one this time.

I hold it out to Wayne, asking silent permission, and he nods with a smile.

“Now I have, yes.”

Counter lady looks like she might dance as she rings everything up. Her name tag clings to her knitted pink sweater at an angle. The name’s written in a curly font that’s almost impossible to read, but my brain pieces it together after a minute. Eloise.

Wayne thumbs through bills in his wallet, counting out exact cash, and I point to the clothes. “Can I change before we leave? It’s a long drive back to Alton. I’d rather be in something comfortable.”

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