The Secret Lives of Dresses Read Online Free

you’re here.” Her voice was surprisingly loud.
    Mimi’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Dora could see that moment of where-am-I panic, and leaned in so Mimi could see her without sitting up.
    “Shhhh. Don’t try to talk. You’ve had some kind of stroke, you’re at Forsyth Baptist.”
    Mimi gave Dora her best “I know that” face, marred only by the slackness of her right cheek and eyelid, and the indignity of the tube in her nose. Despite that, it was still the same “you’re not getting away with this” expression Dora remembered, except this time she wasn’t trying to stay out after curfew or find an excuse to avoid doing the dishes.
    “It’s going to be okay,” Dora said, reaching for Mimi’s hand again. “It’s going to be okay.” Dora was on Mimi’s left side, in the only chair. I wonder if they put the chair here on purpose , she thought. So visitors would sit on her good side. Mimi would have demanded that, if she could. Mimi’s hand twitched in hers. Dora held on tighter.
    The door opened again. Dr. Czerny turned out to be a tall middle-aged woman with graying russet hair swept up in a plastic clip. She was wearing a slate-blue sweater under her lab coat, and real shoes—not the plastic clogs the nurse had worn.
    “I’m Dr. Czerny.” She stuck out a ringless hand. Dora took it, and flailed for a minute before remembering what her line should be. “I’m Dora Winston, Mimi’s granddaughter.”
    Dr. Czerny looked over towards Mimi, whose eyes had drifted closed again. “Would you like to step out into the hall?”
    Away from Mimi, Dora felt awkward and costumey in her dress. “Can you tell me what happened?”
    “Your grandmother was brought in this morning; she had a seizure in her shop. One of the customers called 911. She was brought here, and we believe she had a kind of stroke called a subarachnoid hemorrhage.”
    Dora had a fleeting mental image of a giant black spider, sucking life from Mimi. She pushed it away.
    “How serious? Will Mimi . . .” Dora felt as if even asking would change things for the worse, push the fuzzy cloud of possibilities into a hard, solid wrong shape.
    “There’s a chance of recovery.”
    A chance. Dora noticed that there wasn’t any kind of qualifier there. Not “good.” Not “slight.” Just “chance.”
    “How long . . .”
    “She will be in the hospital for some time. It’s hard to predict, with this kind of brain trauma. We should really have her in the ICU, but we’re full up, and we didn’t want to move her. If you wish to have her moved, the next-closest ICU is in Greensboro.”
    Dora must have looked bewildered, because Dr. Czerny’s face softened. “Is there any other family who can help you? Your parents? Brothers and sisters?”
    “My parents are dead.” Dora was always surprised at how saying that never seemed to lose any strength, was always shiny and sharp each time it left her mouth. “Mimi has a brother—a half brother. He’s in Fayre.” Dora thought of her great-uncle John, two cell phones bolted to him at all times, his unpleasant habit of holding up a finger for silence whenever one of them rang. Uncle John, in the hospital, arguing with everyone, with his attitude of “I’m rich, therefore I’m right,” bringing her great-aunt Camille with him to fuss over everything. Dora shuddered. “They’re not . . . they’re not close.”
    “I see.” Dr. Czerny looked as if half brothers who weren’t close could be dismissed without a second thought. “I can make an appointment with the family counselor for you; you should see her tomorrow. Right now, if you can, just sitting with your grandmother would be the best thing, for you both.”
    Dr. Czerny’s shoes made a reassuring clicking sound as she went off down the hallway. Dora watched her turn the corner before she went back into Mimi’s room.
    Mimi was well and truly asleep again, or maybe sedated. Dora wished she’d thought to ask, but sank into the