“Then they can enjoy it with you,” he said. “Go on in. I will wait here.”
“Damon, please. You cannot stay in the car.”
He let out a short, dry laugh that did not reach his eyes.
“I am not walking in there beside you looking like a desperate joke,” he said.
My breath caught in my throat, but I forced my hand toward the door handle.
“I am going inside,” I said, pressing the plastic latch.
The cold autumn air hit my face immediately, carrying the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke from the nearby houses. Damon unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click and pushed his own door open, stepping out into the gravel.
He did not walk around to my side of the car to offer a hand. He stood by his open door, his grey hair lifting in the wind as he glared across the roof of the sedan.
“Look at yourself, Elena,” he said, his voice rising over the sound of a passing SUV on Main Street.
“Please, Damon, keep your voice down,” I whispered, stepping onto the concrete curb.
The wind caught the hem of my dress, wrapping the emerald silk tight against my knees. I pulled my coat closer, but the front remained open, exposing the fabric.
“You look like you are trying to prove something to the world,” he said, his eyes scanning the bright fabric with disgust. “Like you want every man in there to stare at you.”
“That is not true,” I said, my chest tightening. “I just wanted to wear something that made me feel like myself again. Not just the woman who cleans the kitchen and folds the laundry.”
He took a step toward me, his face close enough that I could smell the peppermint on his breath.
“You are fifty, Elena. People our age don’t need to be seen. They need to be dignified.”
“And you think this is undignified?”
“I think it is a desperate attempt to hold onto something you lost twenty years ago,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
