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and celebrate when she’s gone? She was going to be my maid of honor.”
    Right. Would Ruthann or Karen fill that role now?
    A rogue thought occurred to me. I remembered overhearing something about a shotgun wedding yesterday. If we were in the 1950s, I’d be wondering if Josie was pregnant and the hurried wedding was to save the family’s reputation.
    Of course we were in small-town Texas, so it was sort of the same thing. “You’re not . . . um . . . Are you . . .” I couldn’t figure out how to ask her tactfully.
    She leaned forward with each of my starts and stops like she could pull the words out of me.
    I cupped my hands over my belly. “You know—”
    She flung herself back on the couch. “God, no! We don’t want kids right away. We want to be a family, him and me, before we add that to the mix.”
    I breathed out a sigh of relief. “So there’s no hurry. If you don’t feel right about it . . .” This time I trailed off. Who was I to tell her to postpone her fairy-tale nuptials?
    She laid the check on the coffee table. “Harlow,” she said, “I need you to make my bridal gown, and Karen and Ruthann’s bridesmaid dresses. The wedding is on.”
    As I hesitated, a gentle puff of air, nothing stronger than an afternoon breeze, swept under the check Josie had written. The paper fluttered off the coffee table and landed in my lap.
    A shiver stole through me. The windows in here were definitely closed. I had the sudden feeling that Josie and I weren’t alone in the house, that the check had been picked up and placed on my lap by some ghostly presence.
    Meemaw .
    Josie put her hand on mine. “Please, Harlow. I want to marry Nate.”
    I took her hand and nodded, hoping it was sincerity I felt emanating from her and not desperation. The dress I made for her would have to be beyond perfect. Every seam I stitched would hold together her dreams. Every bead I sewed would bring sparkle back into her life. And every pleat I added would help her fold her grief into manageable pieces.
     
    I went into the workroom, grabbed a package from a cardboard box I hadn’t had the chance to unload yet, and handed it to her. “Go put this on.”
    She flipped it over. “Spanx?”
    I’d become a shapewear convert when Maximilian gave a sampler pack to his employees for Christmas one year. I’d witnessed the before and after with my own eyes. My “now you see them” jiggles had been transformed into a sleek silhouette.
    She opened the envelope and pulled out the Hide & Sleek Hi-Rise Body Smoother, the perfect thing for her to wear under her strapless Empire dress. I’d be giving her the illusion of a longer, leaner line with the high waist. No regular hose or shaper would do.
    “Um, are you sure?” she asked skeptically.
    “One hundred percent.” I steered her to the distressed red wooden privacy screen off to the right of the room. The screen looked like old oversized window shutters hung together with antique hinges. Lengths of fabric draped over one side. Clothes hangers were hooked onto the slats, displaying samples of some of my favorite designs. “Even Jessica Simpson wears Spanx.”
    Her eyes popped wide. “Really?”
    Jessica was a Texan. That gave her extra credibility with other Texans.
    I winked. “It’s gonna be great. Trust me.”
    A minute later she came out from behind the screen practically glowing. “It works!”
    “Of course it does.” She went on, raving about how comfortable she was, that she’d still be able to dance, how much better it was than the girdle her mom had bought from Walmart, and how Karen and Ruthann, but especially Karen, were going to flip when they discovered these. “They’re always talking about their tummies. Karen’s got her husband, but Ruthann says she better find herself a man quick before her looks go. And Nell . . .”
    Her gaze darkened, but she pulled herself together. “Nell would have loved this,” she finally said. “She was forever complaining about her