To entertain her, I started making up names and histories for the bored-looking clerks standing behind their counters. The buck-toothed girl was Mabel Worthington, working extra hours to help her little brother realize his dream of becoming an ice dancer. The guy with two big moles was Monty Miles, and he had just arrived here, straight from his little ice-fishing village in Canada.

“Those two blond girls are sisters,” I said. “They were separated by foster care, and they’ve just found each other again.”

“I don’t like that one,” Lauren whispered, unhappy. “That’s not nice, Dad. Change it.”

“You’re a fussy kitten today, aren’t you?” I was trying to think of a good one for those two when Lauren tugged my hand hard. I turned and saw a pair of leggings hanging on a nearby rack. They were bright blue with shiny gold lightning bolts on them. Lauren held her breath as she looked at them.

“I guess you can try them on,” I said. “I have to come with you into the changing room, though.”

All the leggings on the rack were too small. I looked around hopelessly. The two sales girls came over to us. Close up they didn’t look much alike, after all. They were both blond, that was all.

The taller one said, “Can I help you?”

“Is this all you have in stock?” I asked.

“I think so,” she said.

“Are you sure?” I could tell how much Lauren loved those leggings and how disappointed she would be if she couldn’t get them. “Don’t you have more in back?” I gave her my best smile and told her the size Lauren needed. The short one smirked.

“Something funny?” I asked. In that moment I hoped the smirking girl actually had been raised in foster care and separated from her family. Luckily Lauren’s attention had wandered back to the leggings and she didn’t see.

The taller woman ignored her friend and said in a professional tone, “I can check.” I noticed that she had a twitch in her left eyelid, some kind of tic. Maybe living with this had made her a nicer person. After a while she came back with more pairs of leggings draped over her forearm, like a fancy waiter carrying a white napkin. “These might work,” she said.

The changing room was long and quiet, hung with white curtains.

“Go away, Dad,” Lauren said when we were inside a cubicle.

“You know I can’t do that, kitten.”

“At least—don’t look. PLEASE.” So I closed my eyes. There was rustling and silence. Then she said sadly, “They don’t fit.”

“I’m so sorry, my kitten,” I said. I really was. “We’ll find you something else.”

“No,” she said. “I’m tired, now. Let’s go home.”