The Green Lace Corset, стр. 63

She climbed onto her daybed, picked up her journal, and composed an affirmation: I will not buy any more found objects.

She crossed it out. She needed to write it in a positive way, without the word “not.” She tried again: I will choose not to pick up . . .

No. She crossed that out also.

I will keep my hands off found objects while in the thrift shop.

She rewrote it on an index card, slipped it into her backpack, and raced off to work.

She still hadn’t heard anything about what had happened to Priscilla and Karl. At this point, she didn’t care, because having the entire studio to produce in had been heavenly. Museum guests had been coming in and having fun adding pieces to Freddy, and he was getting covered all over.

By the time work was over, her back and swollen feet hurt. She ordered a Lyft, removed her affirmation card, and read it silently, over and over.

I will keep my hands off found objects while in the thrift shop.

The Lyft dropped her off in front of her favorite thrift shop, Rescued Relics. Anne stepped inside and paused to get her bearings. Even though she hadn’t been there for ages, they still hadn’t fixed the blinking fluorescent lights.

The shop was stuffed with toys, household goods, and clothes. It was the same store where she’d bought Sylvia’s black velvet coat. Was that only five years ago?

How much Anne’s life had changed since then. Her art career had taken off, she’d been to Europe, she’d even fallen in love for real, and she felt more confident about herself. And now she was having a baby.

The same clerk with the beehive hairdo sat behind the counter, working on an earring display and snapping her gum. “Hi, doll.”

“Do you have maternity clothes?” Anne asked.

The clerk eyed her. “Not separated. Try women’s large, or even the men’s.” She pointed toward the back of the shop.

Even though Anne wasn’t going to get much, she grabbed a basket anyway and started down the aisle. She’d promised Sergio she wouldn’t buy anything used for the baby, but that knit hat shaped like a daisy with the yellow sweater to match was adorable. Anne tossed them both in the basket. She’d wash them several times, and Sergio would never know the difference.

As she passed the knickknack shelf, she kept her eyes focused forward, repeating, I will keep my hands off found objects.

Her peripheral vision caught a ceramic cowgirl, but Anne walked right by. See, she could obey her affirmation.

In the back of the shop she flipped through the size XXL tops. An oriole orange one seemed big enough. She pulled it out and held it up to her in a mirror. The ghastly color clashed with her auburn hair. She laughed at a hideous black-and-white butterfly smock with pearls sewn on that reminded her of something Moira from the hilarious TV series Schitt’s Creek would wear. A humongous black velour top caught Anne’s eye. Black made you look smaller. She pulled off her sweater, took the velour from the hanger, and tried it on. She swam in it, but she’d be able to wear it for the rest of her pregnancy, and it would be cozy to do her art in forever.

In men’s shirts, she picked out a few that would work for her: a chambray dress shirt, a Pendleton plaid, and even a floral Robert Graham, like the guy on Modern Family wore. The shirts were all plenty big. She could just roll up the sleeves. No need to try them on. She tossed them in the basket.

She saved the worst for last. Solid black would be best. She found a pair of sweatpants with an elastic drawstring. That would be convenient.

Pushing the basket past the knickknack shelf, she made it safely to the checkout counter and got in line behind three people ahead of her. Waiting her turn, she spun a hat rack display of scarves.

“Well, I’ll be.” She reached for a green feather boa, the exact color of the corset. She threw it around her neck. How serendipitous. Would she ever get to wear that outfit again? It would take forever to lose her baby weight.

The woman in front of her dumped coins from a paper bag onto the counter’s glass top. The beehived clerk helped count them into stacks and plunked the woman’s toaster into the sack.

A baggie of watches under the counter caught Anne’s eye. The bag even had a red sale dot on it, which meant 50 percent off. She bent down to take a closer look. She loved to put watches in her mosaics. People didn’t wear watches much anymore; they just checked their cell phones. Maybe used watches would be easier to come by.

“Would you like to take a look?” The clerk snapped her gum and slid the baggie onto the counter.

“Thirty dollars is a bit high.” Anne leaned over and tried to see the watches.

The clerk opened it for her and dumped the watches on a tray. “Go ahead and pick out the ones you want. We’ll make a deal.”

“I’d better not.” I will keep my hands off found objects.

“Come on. Choose at least one.”

It wouldn’t hurt just to look. Anne riffled through the tray—sports, white rhinestone, some with broken bands, some that appeared brand-new.

“No way.” She picked up one with a yellow Tweety bird on the face and pink numbers. This was too perfect. She would wear it when she drove her Karmann Ghia.

“I’ll take this one.” Wishing she could have bought the whole kit and caboodle, she strapped the watch onto her wrist and piled the rest of her choices onto the counter.

When she arrived back at her apartment, Mrs. Landenheim stepped into the foyer with the black-and-white kitty in her arms.

Anne hid the bag behind her and stroked the kitten’s soft back. “You’ve sure grown since last time I saw you.” She didn’t want nosy Mrs. Landenheim going through her purchases. Since she wouldn’t let Anne