"Naomi was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeve of the coral dress, when she noticed Susan again. Susan had stood up from the bench and was now standing near the fitting rooms, her phone in her hand, her eyes narrow. She was watching Naomi the way a person watches someone they believe is about to steal something.
Naomi felt her stomach tighten, but she kept her voice light.
"Can I help you find something? " she asked again, still hoping that kindness might break through. Susan did not answer.
She took a step closer, glanced at the tag hanging from the coral dress, and then at Naomi's handbag, which was sitting on the small stool inside the fitting room. Her face hardened. She whispered something under her breath that Naomi could not hear, and then she turned and walked quickly toward the front of the shop, her heels loud on the wood.
Naomi stood there in the coral dress, her own dress hanging behind her, her handbag still on the stool, and she felt a wave of disbelief. She was in her own boutique, wearing her own dress, holding her own inventory, and a stranger was looking at her as if she were a thief. She thought about all the times she had told Ava that if you work hard and treat people well, people will treat you well in return.
She thought about Marcus telling her that the boutique was a door for other women. She thought about the loan, the paint, the sanded floors, the peony. She took a slow breath, slipped back into her own black dress, and hung the coral dress carefully back on its hanger, because even in that moment, she was still a shopkeeper, and she still took care of her things.
When she walked back onto the floor, Claire was waiting for her, her face worried. "Naomi," Claire said quietly, "she's on the phone. I think she's calling someone.
"Naomi looked toward the front window. Susan was standing outside now, on the sidewalk, her phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gesturing sharply as she spoke. She glanced back through the glass at Naomi, and for a moment their eyes met.
Naomi held her gaze, steady and calm, refusing to look away, refusing to shrink. She did not know who Susan was calling, or what she was saying, but she could feel, in the way the air seemed to change, that the afternoon was about to become something she had not prepared for, something that no amount of careful planning or kindness could have prevented. Naomi tried to return to her work, folding a scarf that had come unfolded, straightening a stack of cards by the register, checking the fitting room to make sure nothing had been left behind.
But her hands were shaking slightly, and she had to set down the scarf and take a breath. Claire put a gentle hand on her arm. "Are you okay?
" she asked. Naomi nodded, though she was not sure it was true. "I'm the owner," she said, more to herself than to Claire.
"I have keys. I have a lease. I have every right to be here.
" Claire nodded. "I know. We all know.
" Outside, Susan was still on the phone, pacing now, her voice rising. A passerby stopped to look at her, then quickly walked on. Naomi watched her through the glass and thought about how strange it was that a woman could stand on a public sidewalk and try to decide, with a single call, who belonged inside a shop and who did not.
She thought about Ava again, and about what she would tell her daughter that night. She wanted to be able to say that she had stayed calm, that she had been kind, that she had not let fear win. She did not yet know how hard that was about to become.
Outside on King Street, Susan Whitfield stood with her phone pressed to her ear, her handbag clutched against her chest, her eyes fixed on the front door of Ellis & Co. as if she were afraid that if she looked away, something terrible would happen. She had been standing there for almost ten minutes, pacing in a tight circle on the sidewalk, and the few people who passed her gave her a wide berth. A young man with a dog crossed to the other side of the street.
An older couple glanced at her and then at the boutique, confused. She was speaking to a dispatcher now, her voice high and urgent, the words tumbling out faster than she could control them. "Yes, I need police," she said.
"I'm at a boutique on King Street. Ellis and Company. There's a woman inside, she's — she's stealing.
She's taking dresses. She's been in the fitting rooms for a long time, and she's — she's acting suspicious. "The dispatcher on the other end spoke calmly, asking for details, as dispatchers are trained to do.
"Can you describe the woman? "Susan hesitated for only a second. "She's Black," she said.
"Thirties. Black dress. She was trying on dresses, expensive ones, and she had a bag.
She doesn't work here. I asked. She doesn't belong here.
"The dispatcher asked if Susan had seen her take anything. Susan said she had seen her go into the fitting room with dresses and come out with dresses, which was not quite an answer, but Susan did not seem to notice. She said she had seen her handling tags.
She said she had seen her with a phone, taking pictures, as if that were proof of something. She said the staff were covering for her. Her voice grew louder as she spoke, and a woman walking past with a stroller slowed down to stare.
"Please send someone quickly," Susan said. "Before she leaves. Before she takes everything.
"Inside the boutique, Naomi had no idea that this call was happening, or at least not the full details of it. She knew Susan was on the phone. She knew Susan was upset.
But she did not know that her name, her shop, her life's work were being described to a dispatcher as a crime in progress. She was helping a customer find a size, her voice steady, her hands busy, trying to keep the day normal. Claire was watching the door, her face pale.
Jasmine was standing near the stockroom, wringing her hands, unsure what to do. When Susan came back inside, she did not look at Naomi. She walked straight to the center of the shop and stood there, arms crossed, as if she were guarding the place until help arrived.
She said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I've called the police. They'll sort this out. "The shop went silent.
The mother and daughter who had been laughing in front of the mirrors stopped laughing. The tourist from Ohio put down the scarf she had been holding. Jasmine's eyes filled with tears.
Claire stepped forward, her voice shaking but firm. "Ma'am, you need to leave. You are upsetting our customers.
Naomi is the owner. She is not stealing anything. "Susan shook her head.