“If I skip my own dental checkup money this month, I can put seventy dollars toward the dress deposit by Friday.”

“You work in a dental office, Jodi,” Ben said flatly.

“You can’t skip your own basic care to pay for chiffon.”

“It isn’t chiffon, it’s heavy green satin,” I said.

“And she deserves to feel like a human being in front of her class.”

Ben studied me for a long moment, then picked up his green apple and took a loud, crunchy bite without another word.

By four o’clock the afternoon rush of root canal follow-ups had cleared out, leaving me alone behind the tall laminate front desk with the black vinyl appointment book.

The tinny bell over the glass door rang, and Chloe came into the lobby with two plastic garment bags draped over her arm.

She owned the dress shop three doors down from our clinic, and she often dropped in on Tuesday afternoons to swap local gossip or borrow our heavy-duty tape dispenser.

“I’ve got Sadie down for Saturday at ten to try on that emerald gown,” Chloe said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her cream cardigan.

“She stopped at my window twice last week just to look at it on the mannequin.”

“Three hundred and eighty-nine dollars,” I said, repeating the number like a medical diagnosis.

“It fits her like it was cut for her frame, Jodi,” Chloe said gently.

Her smile was real and particular, the one she gave every girl who came into her shop carrying quiet doubts.