“I never understood their appeal, really. I mean, for me, anyway. I look funny in them,” Lucy said.
“I doubt that,” Casey said. Lilly Daché, the famous milliner, had written that every woman looked better in a hat. She just had to find the right one. Daché believed that wonderful things could happen to a woman wearing a hat—get kissed, meet a new friend, at the minimum, avoid freckles. Casey had worn a plain broad-brimmed straw today with a white T-shirt and chinos, tennis shoes. “Here, try mine. No, better, I’ll find one of Hazel’s.” How strange it was to say her name.
“Oh no,” Lucy protested. “Trust me, I know two things about me and fashion: I look lousy in hats and in the color green. My skin becomes lizardly.”
“C’mon. You’re silly. I don’t see that at all.” Casey shook her head dismissively. It could take a long time to convince a woman that she looked fine. Occasionally, you had to repeat the script of assurance till you were tired. But she was in no mood. Her fatigue from the summer internship had been compounding like interest, hitting her exceptionally hard this morning, but she’d rushed out of the apartment unwilling to yield to it.
Lucy continued to open cabinets and shut them as though she were searching for something in particular.
There were photographs of Hazel everywhere. In every image, even the color ones taken not long ago, she was wearing a hat. She was maybe five two, medium build. Friendly looking but not beautiful. Her clothes were simple but with dramatic lines, like Dior’s New Look. When she and Joseph were photographed together, he stood a head taller, his arm encircling her thickening waist. Her eyes were more green than blue. Near the end, her hair was white and puffy.
“She was very funny,” Lucy said. “She could tell a dirty joke. And loyal. No one was loyal like Hazel. Hated to cook meals, but baked on Sundays. Joseph liked a nice cake with his coffee.” In front of the heavy mahogany sideboard, Lucy unbuttoned her shirtsleeves and cuffed them.
Casey held up a photograph framed in marquetry wood of the two of them in front of the shop. They were almost strangers to her; she had never even met Hazel, but to be in this house so soon after Joseph’s death, they felt like kin.
Lucy took a deep breath, as if she were bracing herself for the task ahead. John had gone sailing today, and it was just as well. He would have taken things out of closets and cupboards without deciding what to do with them.
“Casey, the guest room is in the back,” she said cheerfully, pulling out the silver-and-ivory-handled tea set from the sideboard. For as long as she’d been married to John, she had admired her mother-in-law’s silver, which had gone to Hazel and not John. Now it would go to their son, Michael, but would he even want such things in his bungalow in Sausalito? “Past the bathroom and linen closet,” she said when Casey appeared confused.
Casey went to the rear of the house, opening the wrong door first, then discovered the large spare room beside the laundry room. There must have been fifty or sixty hatboxes stacked up like towers—a landscape of striped paper, floral fabric, and squat leather cylinders. The windowed room with white cabbage rose curtains smelled of a dry, forgotten closet, and the scent of perfumed sachets lingered; someone had kept up with the mothballs. It would be impossible to take these back to Sabine’s. Casey opened the box nearest her and the one next to it, soon realizing that each box contained at least two hats. Some had more. They were sublime, but they were old hats nonetheless and for all intents and purposes unwearable. Not worth money, either.
She put on a pigeon-gray feathered hat shaped like a small oval plate. The feathers curved a little toward the face teasingly and were held up with two tortoiseshell combs and elastic. You’d wear your hair up, the hat cocked slightly over one eye. With a charcoal suit or maybe a pink one. Another was a luncheon hat with a bird’s nest cradling three blue eggs on a slender branch. The extravagance in design made Casey marvel. An ordinary woman could not pull this off. Surprisingly, the hat stayed put with only an elastic band worn beneath the nape of the neck. She checked the mirror near the door. How could she not smile? She dashed out to show Lucy.
“That was for a garden party in Wilton. Hazel had so much fun making that one. Those are real robin’s eggs,” Lucy said. Hazel’s hair was still brown then, she recalled. Her sister-in-law had worn a tailored sage-colored suit—something out of
The Sound of Music
with a nest on her head. Hazel was a wonder.
“One second,” Casey said. She ran back to the room and brought out a hat with a bisque-colored fan perched on top of a small brown pillbox. “You try.”
Lucy made a face. “No, no. You’re just like Hazel. She’d always make me do silly things.”
“Please,” Casey said.
Lucy’s pretty eyes lurked skeptically beneath the sober brow. She didn’t say anything. She was holding a pair of ice spoons in flannel bags.
Casey sensed acquiescence. “Oh, goody.” She deftly tucked the hat elastic over the back of Lucy’s head and moved the fan portion down closer to the forehead. “You look beautiful.” Casey smiled, because she took your breath away.
Lucy shook her head in denial, preparing to shed the thing herself, but she was admittedly curious.
“Go look.” Casey pointed to the Chippendale-style mirror in the foyer.
Lucy remained standing there, however, clutching the slotted spoons.
Casey removed the silver from her grasp and took her by the hand. “Come.”
Lucy cringed in the mirror reflexively. She felt self-conscious and ridiculous. “I don’t look good in these things.” When Hazel wore a hat, her neck had been as upright as a stalk of wheat.
“Nonsense. Look at yourself. It’s all right. It’s all right to look at yourself,” Casey said softly, only a little puzzled by the woman’s reluctance to admire herself. Excessive modesty being vanity’s sister, after all.
Casey studied Lucy for a moment, her hand covering her mouth in mild hesitation. “You look knowing,” she said.
Lucy glanced at the mirror and chuckled. The smile softened the straight line of her jaw. She raised her hands to remove the hat, but Casey wouldn’t have it. “Keep it on for five more minutes. Please.”
Casey headed to the attic, climbing the steps two at a time. She felt excited to see more.
When Lucy heard the attic door open, she shuffled quietly to the foyer mirror. Her image was so different. The hat hid the ash blond pageboy—the hairstyle she’d maintained since the seventies. Knowing. That was the right word. Lucy smiled shyly at herself and did not remove the hat until Casey came down much later.
Until evening, Casey went through each box in all three rooms until her hands were sooty and her hair covered in dust. Lucy drove her back to the city. A collapsible silk top hat rested in her lap for the ride back.
On Sunday morning, Casey sewed the trim on a new summer hat. It was a finely woven straw with a wide brim that had been blocked for her professionally at Manny’s Millinery. She’d found the vintage green-and-white ribbon for its band at Tinsel Trading. In the past year, she’d scrawled names for her hats on the brown hatboxes—mostly after her favorite book women: Charlotte, Becky, Valerie, Lily, Edith, Jane, Anna. This one, though, was Hazel. When she had knotted her last stitch, there was no one to show it to. Sabine and Isaac were away at Fishers Island visiting friends, and the big apartment felt dead without Sabine’s high heels clacking across the ebonized floors. The housekeeper and cook were off this week.
Casey wore her new hat to church. The regular minister was away for the summer, and the visiting minister spoke beautifully, but she didn’t feel much of anything. After the sermon, she tried praying for once, but she couldn’t quiet her mind well enough to think of much to say, beyond thank you—maybe everything would be all right. When she opened her eyes, she saw the others who were deep in prayer, and she wondered how they did that. Was it like turning on a switch for an invisible microphone? Did they really believe that God heard them? Was it just wishfulness? What comfort they must have, she thought, not without a little envy. At the end of the service, she walked down the crowded aisle by herself. There was a light touch on her upper arm, and Casey figured that she’d been bumped along the way.
“Hi,” Ella said.
“Oh, hello,” Casey said. By Ella’s side stood a white guy with wavy brown hair and dark blue eyes. He was tall, well over six feet. He wore a white shirt and faded seersucker trousers. Ella wore a simple sundress in a blue chalcedony color that Casey had never seen before. She looked lovely.
“Casey, this is David. David Greene. My fiancé.”
His eyes held a kind expression. David was a good-looking man. Something about his demeanor made you want his approval.
“I know who you are,” Casey said, slightly amused. “Ella works with you.” She shook his hand.
Ella turned to David. “If it wasn’t for Casey, I wouldn’t have called you. To get my job back. She even picked out what to wear that day.” She laughed at herself. How nervous she had been; how nice he was.
The crowds milled past them, and Casey inched closer to Ella’s side of the aisle to get out of the way.
Ella opened her arms to embrace Casey. “I’ve missed you.”
Casey didn’t know what to say in return, but she hugged her back. She could feel Ella’s thin shoulder blades beneath her hands.
“How are your parents?”
“Good,” Casey answered. “I saw them last week at their store. And spoke to them Friday. My father’s thinking about buying another building. Elder Kong found a smaller one for him. You know the other one burned down. The cost of this one is much lower, and—” She stopped abruptly. David was nodding encouragingly, but Casey remembered the primary rule about talking about money in front of people like David Greene. You shouldn’t. Money was alluded to in where you spent your holidays or your hobbies, but never in dollars and cents. She had learned all this in college. “Anyway, they’re both well.”
“Your mom?”
“She’s good. She even went to church today.”
“Irene would love to see you.”
“Oh, how is Irene?” Casey asked. “I have hats for her. I made her two for the summer. A canvas beach hat in white and a linen in a tangerine color. But summer has ended almost—”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you.” Ella felt happy. “Are you free for lunch? Can you come by? I wanted to call you and talk to you about the wedding. Can you come? I made a frittata last night, and we have this very good brioche from. . . Casey, please.”
The organ music of the postlude swelled about them. Ella slipped her arm through Casey’s and led her out of the church.
Irene ran into Casey’s arms. She showed off her sock monkey Grover. Casey made funny voices behind Grover. Irene considered the monkey seriously, understanding that the voice came from Casey, yet she talked to Grover anyway. David made Casey a Bloody Mary that was delicious.
The dining table had already been set with four places, with white roses for centerpieces. Ella set another place.
“Who else is coming?” Casey asked.
“I have a confession,” Ella said. “But I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
Casey laughed. “Ella Shim is now conducting subterfuge? I am impressed. Divorce has been good for you.” Casey’s drink was half-gone already. She took a bite of the celery. Irene made a face when she was offered some.
“Grover—” Irene stuck the sock monkey near the stalk.
“Mmmm,” Casey said, pretending to be the monkey eating the celery. “Crunch, crunch.”
Ella smiled, afraid to break the good feeling. “Unu is here.”
“What?”
“I mean, he’s not here right now, but he’s staying here with me. He’s had some troubles. David helped him get a job at St. Christopher’s, and he’s starting next month. Teaching statistics and pre-cal.”
“Is he all right?” Casey asked. “He’s living here?”
Ella nodded. “He’s much better now. I mean, he’s doing great, actually. But the gambling, Casey. You never told me. That it was serious.”
“It wasn’t your business,” Casey snapped.
“No, Casey, I didn’t mean that you had to tell me. I think you were respecting his privacy. I understand that. I do. I think you were right not to tell me. It wasn’t my business.”
Casey stirred her drink with the celery stalk. What would he say when he saw her? That’s why his phone was no longer in service. He must have moved out of the apartment.
“Where is he now?”
“He went to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. He’ll be back any minute. I didn’t want you to be surprised.”
“Why are you telling me all this? It’s none of my business.”
Casey had offered to take him to those meetings, but he had not gone. But now that he was at Ella’s, he was going. How did Ella get him to quit gambling and to get a job?
“Maybe I should go.”
Irene pulled at Casey’s shirt, pushing Grover into her hand. “Talk,” she said. “Make Grover talk.”
Casey picked up Grover. “Hi, Irene. Can we eat banana cake for lunch? Yum yum yum.” She made Grover kiss Irene’s cheek.
Irene laughed, but Casey’s mood had darkened considerably. She wanted to go back to the Gottesmans’. She’d been trying to figure out what to do with her living situation in the fall. Now both she and Unu were living in other people’s houses. It was so pathetic.
Casey picked up her handbag.
“I do wish you would stay,” David said. “I’ve heard so much about you. All wonderful things. I wanted to hear about your hats. Did you make the one you were wearing today?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“It’s beautiful. Ella wore the one you made for her to my mother’s birthday party. She looked marvelous in it.”
“Oh,” Casey said. “That’s nice.”
“Everyone said I should wear the hat all the time,” Ella said.
Irene raised her arms, and Casey put down her drink to pick up the child. She kissed her on both cheeks, then put her down.
Casey tapped her jacket pocket. “May I?” But she remembered her friend’s allergies. “I mean, never mind. I’ll step outside for a minute.” She didn’t want to smoke in front of Irene anyway. “I won’t be long.”