I put the car in park right in front of Betty’s Boutique, a local clothing shop that o ered western-style women’s clothing. From what I had seen, downtown Dubois was the whole town, one street full of local businesses and angled parking on both sides. It felt like I had walked into the s. ere wasn’t a chain store or restaurant in sight, and everyone seemed to know one another— well, except me. I got out of the car and ung my purse over my shoulder. is is where Calvin had said I could get myself some proper “Wyoming wear,” as he put it. He had more work to tend to on the ranch, so I gured if I was going to sh and ride horses, I may as well look the part. A woman walked by, delivering a friendly smile and a hello. I nodded back. She gave me an odd look, and I couldn’t tell if it was from my curt acknowledgment or because I was a stranger, both oddities around here.
I went inside the store and before I even got the chance to look around, I was greeted by a plump woman with short graying hair, a round face, and rosy cheeks. She walked right up to me from behind the counter, wearing a oral dress that had no shape to it.
“Welcome to Betty’s Boutique,” she said. “What brings you in today?” I
could have t a pencil sideways in her mouth, that’s how wide her smile was.
e shop was a hodgepodge of used and new clothing. Everything was either jean or leather or covered in prints like oral, plaid, and annel. It was very, very country, like nothing I had ever seen before. I only started doing the
throw-a-dart-at-a-map vacation six years ago. It had led me to Florida,
California, Maine, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and California again, but thank God it was on the opposite end of the state the second time around. So, this style of the country was very foreign to me. Personally, my wardrobe stuck to neutral colors, mostly black. If I wanted to bring attention to myself, I’d dress otherwise.
“I’m just looking for some proper Wyoming wear.” ere was apprehension in my voice as I picked up the sleeve of a brown leather jacket complete with tassels.
“You’ve come to the right place. My name’s Betty. You’re not familiar to me.
You new here?” She looked me up and down—not in a judgmental way, more like I was brought in on consignment, and she was determining my worth.
“Yes . . . no. I’m just vacationing here through next week.” I gave her a tight smile, hoping I could get on with it. I wasn’t one for small talk, and I’d much rather shop in silence.
She raised an eyebrow. “You here with your husband?”
It was a s question, like women couldn’t travel alone.
“No.” I eyed up a mannequin dressed in a oral print summer dress. It had way more shape than the one Betty was wearing.
“ at’s very Eat, Pray, Love of you,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah, something like that.” I shrugged.
Pushing some clothing around on a nearly stu ed rack, I pulled out a pair of Daisy Dukes and a black tank. Also not my style, but sometimes you have to look the part.
“You’re sure to get the boys’ attention ’round here with an out t like that.” She raised both her brows this time. I couldn’t tell if she was judging me or making conversation.
“I’m just looking for something I can get dirty.”
“ at’ll work. Perhaps a pair of cowboy boots right over there too.” Betty pointed to a neat row of boots.
I nodded and moseyed around the store, picking up another pair of jean
shorts and a white tank. Betty watched me carefully. Her mouth kept opening
and closing as if she was torn between chatting with me or making a sale. She seemed like one of those people who knew everything about everyone. Like the neighbor who watches out their window, two ngers separating a set of blinds to peek at the outside world. If there was a neighborhood watch around here, she was surely the president of it.
“Where ya staying?” she nally settled on, just as I was slipping on a pair of cowboy boots. I walked back and forth in front of the mirror with them on.
ey were comfortable, but I wasn’t used to them.
“On a ranch about twenty minutes down the road. Airbnb . . .” I said as I wiggled my toes in the boots and rocked back on my heels. I sat down, slid them o , and put my tennis shoes back on.
“Oh, you must be staying with Calvin Wells. He’s the only one who does that rental property stu around here. Aside from the local motel, we don’t get too many visitors.” Her brows slightly drew together.
I stood, grabbing the boots, two pairs of shorts, a couple of tops, and snagged the oral dress as well. Betty took her place behind the register as I walked over to the counter.
“I’ll take these,” I said, plopping them next to the old register.
“Good choice.” e price tags on the clothes were all handwritten, so she entered them in manually.
“Calvin’s a good man, ya know,” Betty said as she bagged up the clothes. It was an odd thing to say, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Yeah. He seems nice.” I glanced around while she switched between focusing on her task at hand and trying to get a read on me. e wall behind her was covered in framed photos of all di erent sizes. She was smiling in all of them, standing shoulder to shoulder with another random person. e real Betty looked up and smiled at me while forty pictures of Betty smiled at me behind her. It was rather unnerving.
“He’s like a son to me. I take care of them honeybees up on his farm.” “Oh yes. He showed me them earlier today. You’re Honeybee Betty.”
“ at’s right.” She nodded. “ at’ll be ”
I handed her a fty-dollar bill. e register drawer ung open, and she slowly counted out my change while placing the money in my hand.
“You enjoy the rest of your stay, Grace. I’ll be seeing you around.” Betty
smiled wide as she handed over my bag.
I told her goodbye and returned a tight, forced smile. Something didn’t feel right. Something about that exchange was o . I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I looked back at the store and saw her in the window, watching (like I knew she would). I nodded and quickly got into my car. Just as I started to reverse out of my parking spot, the Mazda beeped several times and the check engine light ickered on. I smacked my hand against the steering wheel in frustration and glanced up through the windshield. Betty was still staring at me through the window of her boutique, almost smiling like she knew I was in deep shit. And that’s when it hit me. I had never told her my name.
