Though Harper meant the shopping trip to be a bonding experience, so far it was anything but. Harper stood outside the dressing room of the fifth store they’d plowed through with all the joy of Sherman’s march to the sea. Every dress or top she’d brought in for Dora to try on was figuratively burned and utterly rejected.

Harper stood outside the dressing room door, counting to ten and telling herself that this would be the last bunch she’d select from this cute shop. Harper was at her wit’s end. She couldn’t get Dora free from her locked-in look of cover-ups in flowing fabric without any discernible waistline, and she wouldn’t show any skin. Dora wanted to go to the clothing stores in the mall that catered to overweight women or women of a particular age who didn’t want to show too much curve. Stubbornly, Harper steered Dora to King Street in Charleston to some of her favorite stores, hoping to inject a little trend and youth into her older sister’s style.

Harper loved clothes. In New York City one of her favorite things was to gaze at all the store windows, swooning over the new styles so fancifully displayed. The bonus of shopping on King Street in Charleston was that there were so many wonderful, chic boutiques, and they wouldn’t have to fight the crowds. It should have been fun.

Instead it was war. Dora shot down all the stylish outfits Harper brought in; they were “too tight,” or “too small,” or “too young.” She wasn’t even nice about it. Dora was snapping and snarling like a cornered dog in the dressing room, sulking while Harper went back out to find new outfits for her to try on.

Harper resented feeling like she was torturing Dora, rather than trying to help. This batch was her last effort before she bailed. Mustering her resolve, she knocked on the dressing room door.

“Ready?” she called out in a pleasant voice.

“More?” Dora called back with a groan.

Harper closed her eyes, then said with forced cheer, “Last bunch! I’m sure we have a winner here.”

Dora opened the door a crack, just enough to reveal her mulish expression. She looked about ready to burst into tears. “I don’t want to try any more on. I’m done here.”

“Dora, just a few more. I thought you looked beautiful in some of the dresses.”

“No, I didn’t. I looked fat. Everything makes me look fat!” Dora blurted out.

A salesgirl approached them, young and perky and eager to help. “Anything working for you?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Harper said in a polite tone.

“Yes, we are. None of these work. You can take them all,” Dora snapped.

“Uh, okay,” the salesgirl replied, sensing the tension. “I’ll just step in and clear these away so you have a little more room,” she said, slipping past Harper to the door.

Dora frowned at the intrusion but stepped aside, hastily covering herself with one of the dresses draped across the small chair. When the dressing room door opened, Harper got a glimpse of Dora in her large white bra and granny underpants. Harper stared at the dressing room and was shocked. It looked like Armageddon, with dresses and blouses and skirts flung everywhere. Harper stepped into the capacious dressing room and helped the young lady pick up some of the scattered clothing, embarrassed at the condition of the room, the lack of respect for the clothing. When the clerk left, Harper stayed in the dressing room with Dora, clutching with white knuckles the last three dresses she’d selected.

Dora rounded on her, eyes narrowed with anger. “I want you to stay out. I saw the look on your face when you saw my body. You were shocked.”

Harper closed her eyes and groaned. “I wasn’t shocked at your body,” she said with strained patience. “I was shocked at the state the dressing room was in!”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well,” Harper admitted with a half grin, “I might’ve been shocked at your underwear. Next stop, we’re buying you a decent bra! Something from this century.”

Dora knew she was trying to make light of it, but Harper didn’t realize how insulting her quips could be. Didn’t she know she already felt like an outdated matron compared to her and Carson? Dora glared at Harper in the mirror.

“Please get out, Harper,” she said with forced civility. “I want to get dressed and go home.”

“Why are you making this so hard?” Harper cried with frustration. “This outing was supposed to be fun, and all you’re doing is sulking and throwing clothes around like a spoiled child.”

“Then stop acting like my mother!” Dora shot back.

“What? How am I acting like your mother?”

“You’re not listening to what I want. You’re telling me what to wear. Ordering me around. This isn’t a shopping trip. It’s a damn makeover!”

Harper was so angered by Dora’s accusation that she tossed the remaining dresses onto the chair. They promptly slid off to the floor.

“I’m trying to be helpful! I know fashion and I’m showing you some outfits that I think you’ll look good in. But you won’t even try them. God, you’re impossible. You’re so stuck in your ways.”

“I didn’t ask for a makeover. Stop trying to change me.”

Harper exploded. “You dress like a grandma!”

Dora’s mouth dropped open and tears flooded her eyes.

In the shocked silence, Harper felt terrible for losing her temper. In the mirror she saw Dora cowering behind the slip of fabric. Everything about Dora—her posture, her crumpled face, her defiance—spoke of defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Harper said, softening her tone. “The last thing I wanted to do today was to make you feel bad. I don’t know, maybe I was trying to give you a makeover. It’s only because I wanted you to see how beautiful you are.” Her tone changed to reveal her frustration. “But you won’t have it. You’re so stubborn, Dora, and for no good reason. I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t like the rut you’re in because it’s comfortable.”

Dora didn’t answer.

There followed a heated silence, during which Harper bent to pick up the dresses from the floor and hang them on the wall hook. Dora remained rigid against the wall, her face turned away, holding the dress tight against her body like a shield.

Harper turned and faced Dora. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the way you look. But you shouldn’t take it out on me. And you know what? It’s not just today. From the moment I got here you’ve been pushing me away. You do that a lot, Dora.”