“The champagne dress is three hundred and fifty, Norma,” I said, adjusting the thin silver band on my left ring finger.
I sighed softly, looking at the small stack of bills. It was five o’clock, and the light coming through our small kitchen window was already turning a dull, flat gray, casting long shadows across the floor.
“I can do the Henderson yard tomorrow before school,” she said, her words tumbling over one another as she smoothed a particularly wrinkled ten-dollar bill. “And the library on Wednesday night. They need someone to dust the high shelves in the back.”
“Your feet are bleeding through your white socks, baby,” I said, reaching down to touch her ankle.
Norma pulled her foot back, rubbing her heels together again. “It is just skin, Mom. It grows back. Besides, Claire says everyone is going to be wearing long dresses, and nobody will even see my shoes.”
