TITLE: Broken Dreamers
GENRE: Upmarket Women's Fiction
The costume shop clung to the end of the pier. The creaky old structure had once been a morgue, built over the water so the breeze would blow the stench across the bay. That was long ago, of course, before refrigeration.
The building had livelier occupants now, but for costumer Wilhelmina Grant there was still something odd about the place. She was the one who dubbed the shop Brigadoon, since it seemed to appear suddenly from the mist and encouraged a light hold on reality.
Willa leaned her shoulder against the window as she sewed, a spool and scissors next to her on the sill. On a clear day she could see Alcatraz and sometimes part of the Golden Gate Bridge, but this morning a hazy scrim had dropped, blurring the view.
The summer was half gone and still Willa waited for a sign. Not a comet or solar eclipse, just an everyday omen to point her in the right direction. The bright dreams that lured her to San Francisco years ago had dulled. A new nudge was long overdue. Maybe she had missed it. Meanwhile, her days rolled out like a bolt of beige flannel, practical, predictable and drowsy.
"Ow!" The needle jabbed deep, leaving a glistening red bead on the pad of her thumb. She wrapped a scrap of muslin around the wound to keep her blood from staining the leather.The stab was the second unexpected event of the morning. And portents, she recalled, often came in threes.