If Evelyn could have one wish granted for her 32nd birthday, it would be to turn back time to her 20th. She would do things right, given a second chance. Try different college classes. Study abroad. Go on more runs with Jim. Maybe end up as something other than an accounting clerk, and maybe end up with him, whether they moved or not.   

Clear Pond was one of the places they used to go on walks together, and today the air was thick with opaque, ominous mist. The wind blew it away in patches, revealing bits of overcast sky and dark tangles of trees on either side of the path. Evelyn shuffled between them, her ungloved hands buried deep in the pockets of her long, black coat. She had turned off her phone so she didn’t have to read any messages congratulating her on getting older. She was a stranger in this cold, industrial city where the man she’d expected to marry had left her for a twenty-two-year-old Social Media Specialist.  

“Excuse me, miss.”  

The voice had a strange quality that made Evelyn think of water gurgling through gravel, but the air was so clouded that at first she couldn’t tell who it was coming from. The next instant, a small, stout figure lurched into view. She clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle a scream.   

The thing had arms, legs, and a head, but was misshapen and lumpy, its body shifting with every movement as if sloshing around inside its coat and sweatpants. A purple camouflage balaclava covered the place where a mouth and nose should be, and a navy hat was pulled down over the eyes. It appeared to be faceless.  

“Excuse me, miss,” the gurgly voice repeated. “Would you like to buy a hat?” 

The faceless figure thrust a canvas bag towards her. It was stuffed with mismatched winter accessories: a gray beanie, a fleecy glove, and a child’s Easter-yellow earmuffs topped the pile. 

“Three dollars each,” the figure said. “Bargain prices.” 

At the sight of the merchandise, Evelyn calmed down and felt slightly ashamed. The vendor must have some kind of medical condition, she thought. There are all kinds of people in the world.  

She glanced politely over the contents of the canvas bag, and just as she was about to back away with a smile and no, thank you, a glimpse of dark green wool caught her eye.  

Here was the flower-patterned hat she’d lost last autumn. Clear Pond had been fringed with yellow leaves at the time, and she’d walked hand in hand with Jim through an unseasonably warm afternoon. Only later had Evelyn realized she’d left the hat on a bench by accident, and she was too busy to go back and look for it. 

“Well?” 

Evelyn cast a quick glance at the vendor. Three dollars wasn’t bad, it was less than she had paid originally. She reached for the hat and took it. 

“I wouldn’t go with that one.” 

“Oh.” Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “Really?” 

“Not if you’re under seventy.”  

The vendor snatched the green hat away and thrust a powder blue one into her hands as a replacement. It was made of soft, elastic material. The tan puffball on top was threaded with iridescent filaments for added sparkle. Evelyn blinked helplessly for a moment, then stopped. Jim used to say doing this made her look like a baby cow. 

“It suits you,” the vendor said.  

Evelyn protested, but they kept pressuring her until she took down her hood. Cringing at the thought of coming into contact with someone else’s head lice or dandruff, she tried the hat on.  

The vendor stood back to take her in. Two small, flinty eyes peeked out just above their purple balaclava. 

“Look at that! You’re like a different person.” 

“I am?” Evelyn said hopefully. 

The vendor held a hand under her nose. “That’ll be seven dollars.” 

“Wasn’t it three?” 

“Seven for that one. It’s a steal.” 

Evelyn handed over a few of the bills she kept on hand for cash tips. The vendor thanked her with an unsteady bow, then scrambled backwards into the mist before the customer could change her mind. She was left alone on the pond trail, wearing a lost item from a different life. 

The wind blew, and the mist looked like sour milk being stirred. A middle-aged man in spandex gear jogged from one cloud to another, disappearing instantly. From the opposite direction, a woman came speed-walking a stroller and talking on the phone. The fat toddler she pushed in front of her was spacing out, exploring his mouth with pudgy fingers.  

“It will never work,” the woman said to whoever was on the other line. “We can’t even have them in the same room together…” She disappeared, too. 

Evelyn touched her fingers to the brim of her new hat. It was much softer than her green wool one. Luxurious, she thought, like it came from a carefully curated boutique. She pictured a place with velvet curtains and chandeliers, and no price tags to be found — a sure sign that everything was ridiculously expensive. Her spine straightened. Why shouldn’t she have a piece of clothing from a place like that? The vendor said it suited her.  

She resumed walking at a brisk pace. It had been months since she’d felt so comfortable in her own skin. To the right of the trail, a towering cloud of pond fog sat on the surface of the water, and when Evelyn came to a break in the trees she veered towards it.  

Tall, tan grasses bobbed at her arrival and a flock of house sparrows burst chaotically from a bush. Evelyn’s boots gave her a good grip on the earth, leaving well-defined imprints in their wake. She had been wondering, over the past few weeks, if she should move back home. How soothing it would be, after everything that had happened: her father’s bird watching binoculars hanging from the coat rack, the smell of simmering tortilla soup, the hushed, eager tones of her mother and aunt in the next room, gossiping about hundreds of old friends Evelyn had never met. But she had left glowing at the prospect of starting a new life with Jim, and returning alone would feel like a step backwards. Besides, her hometown’s nosiness would be much more difficult to endure than this new city’s indifference.   

Only two options remained. Evelyn could keep waking up every day feeling smaller and smaller until she shriveled away. Or — she touched her fingers lightly to the brim of the blue hat — something different. Something new. 

Courage didn’t come to Evelyn often. Breathing in deeply, she decided to make a resolution and say it out loud. No shame, no embarrassment.  

“I’ll start a business,” she said. “I’ll sell… artisanal soap!” 

All was quiet. Evelyn pressed both hands to her chest: her heart was hammering like a rabbit’s. She had never made soap, sold soap, or even really thought about soap before. But wherever it came from, it felt right.  

There was a snort of laughter from behind her.  

“It’s a saturated market,” said an airy, bored-sounding voice. “Everybody and their mother sells homemade soap. People only buy it as gifts for those they barely know.” 

Warmth rose quickly to Evelyn’s wind-chilled face. She turned around. 

There was nobody there, just a prim, fluffy white dog staring right at her. He had pointed ears like a fox and small, wet black eyes. His collar was white leather with a silver buckle. Evelyn looked past the dog’s head and saw nothing but trees and mist.  

“Of course, you could stick to making soap as a pastime, but I don’t see why. There are many more worthwhile hobbies.”  

“Like what?” Evelyn said, presumably, to the dog. 

“Lots of things.” He flicked his tail. “Cooking. Running. Frisbee-tossing.”  

Evelyn looked around her feet for a hidden speaker system. “Is this a prank, or am I going crazy?” 

“Everyone says that. Don’t be boring.” The dog rose from his haunches and stepped towards her. “What’s that hat you’re wearing?” 

“This?” Evelyn raised her fingers to her head, eyes still scanning the ground. “It’s new.” 

“It’s not yours.” 

“Not exactly… but I did pay for it.” 

The dog let out a laugh-like yip and managed to make it sound derisive. 

“Hang on. I’ve seen this dog before,” Evelyn said to herself. 

“You’ve seen me because we are neighbors,” the dog said, enunciating as if she were a stupid child. “I live in the apartment below yours. Sorry not to have made your acquaintance until now.”  

“That’s right! You belong to the woman who… oh.” 

Evelyn had seen the downstairs neighbor only from a distance, as she walked the white dog around the neighborhood. Once, when Jim threw a party with some friends from work, the woman had left a post-it note on their door, promising (in some of the most impeccable handwriting Evelyn had ever seen) that she would call the police the next time they made so much noise on a Wednesday night.  

“I do not belong to her.” The dog’s nostrils flared. “I belong to myself, though she does feed me.” 

“And walks you, too.” Evelyn said. She shook her head. “I’m so confused. How can I understand what you’re saying?” 

“I expect it’s because you’ve achieved a basic understanding of English.” The dog sighed and climbed to his feet. “If this is how our conversation is going to continue, I think I’ll be on my way. But I’ll leave you with this—”  

He looked pointedly back at her.  

“There’s a get-together at Seven Hills today. Someone looking to start a business won’t find a better networking opportunity anywhere. Not that you heard it from me.” 

Evelyn watched, slack-jawed, as the dog returned to the paved path at a light trot and melted into the mist like a wayward cloud reassimilating. She wondered if he was running away from home, and if maybe she should try and catch him. She even set off in the same direction, scanning for a glimpse of black eyes in all the monotonous white, but it quickly became clear that finding him again was a lost cause.  

Evelyn continued down the path. She heard children playing a call-and-response game somewhere across the pond, the distance rendering their laughter into ghostly shrieks. She passed by a bundled-up couple going in the opposite direction. They were talking with their faces close together, trying to rub a little extra warmth into the backs of each other’s padded jackets. It didn’t bother her as much as it would have yesterday, or even that morning, when any evidence of love in the world made her feel like roadkill. One of them had a hat that looked a bit like Evelyn’s. Evelyn’s was still nicer. 

She refused to be shaken by the dog’s lack of faith. Saturated market or not, when Evelyn made soap, it would be something special. It would cleanse the spirit and wash away self-doubt. Already, she felt something stirring within, the prelude to award-winning recipes. Possibilities branched off in her mind: art fairs, flea markets, a community of artisans who could appreciate her vision— 

Evelyn was distracted from her daydreams by a metal sign hammered into a tree. Pushing back the brim of her new hat, she stepped towards it. NO TRESPASSING, it said. And in smaller font underneath: “Private property of Seven Hills Golf Club.”  

The tree stood next to a dirt trail leading away from the pond, into the woods. It was sectioned off by a chain strung between two trunks. Evelyn checked to make sure no one was watching, then stepped over. Above her, the mist looked like cotton tangled in the branches. 

A few minutes later, she found herself standing in a field, watching clouds roll across the manicured lawn like lazy spirits. Evelyn looked up to the left and saw four tall windows burning through the haze. In this weather, it looked more like a vampire family’s country estate than a golf club. As she approached the residence, she could hear faint ragtime played on a piano. Laughter and murmuring voices mingled with the swing of the melody. 

Yesterday, she wouldn’t have dared to go within a hundred feet of the clubhouse’s flagpole, but today Evelyn crossed the porch and rang the bell. The door was thrown open by a big-bellied, red-faced man with his tie askew. 

“What took you so long!” he said. He was holding an open bottle of wine. “Come in!” 

Inside, the party was in full swing. Women with bold lipstick and dagger-like nails, men in collared shirts all wearing the same heavy-looking watches. Servers moved through the room with hors d’oeuvres on silver trays: miniature sausage rolls, crispy calamari drizzled with aioli, spears of roasted asparagus wrapped in thinly-sliced ham.  

Evelyn accepted a slender flute of champagne from a passing server and downed its contents in one gulp. She was going to do this. She was not a strange woman who knew no one at a party, but an entrepreneur with a great idea, mingling with potential investors. People danced, dresses swayed, shiny black shoes caught the light. Evelyn snatched another champagne flute and proceeded to speak with anyone who would listen. 

“We’re starting with a line of artisanal soaps,” she said. “But we plan to branch out into other beauty products eventually.” 

“Lotions, creams, cosmetics,” Evelyn said. “All natural and ethically sourced.”  

The words came more effortlessly with each interaction. Her smile was billboard-ready.  

“What sets Evelyn’s Organics apart? Well — how much time do you have?” The crowd laughed as if on cue. Evelyn built suspense with a thoughtful pause before she resumed speaking.   

“Perhaps most importantly, we’re dedicated to supporting women-owned businesses like ours. That’s why fifteen percent of all profits go towards the Evelyn Ward Women in Business Foundation — next year, we’re hoping to bring that up to twenty.” 

In a momentary lull, Evelyn stood to the side and shuffled through the business cards she had collected so far. One of the finely-dressed servers, a younger man with dark brown eyes, looked at her from across the room. He started walking over, maintaining eye contact. This is happening, Evelyn told herself, and adjusted her hat. 

“Sausage roll?” 

Expectation drained out of her as he extended a serving platter. 

“Thank you very much.” She helped herself. 

A long-fingered hand slid behind Evelyn’s neck and snaked to her shoulder.  

“Well, well, well.” 

It was Mrs. Helen West, chairwoman of the Board of Commerce, a close talker in a pink chiffon pantsuit. 

“It’s not every day I’m impressed by a business proposal at a party.” Evelyn could smell prosciutto on her breath. “You’re an excellent public speaker. You don’t even need a pitch deck.” 

“I’ve got one on my laptop at home,” Evelyn said, resisting the urge to pull away. “Condensed down to 20 slides. My pride and joy.” 

Helen drew back slightly as she laughed, and Evelyn felt a surge of satisfaction. It was only a half-lie, she told herself, because she really would make the PowerPoint tomorrow. 

Mr. West joined the conversation by slinging an arm around his wife. “You know, Evelyn, I happen to know someone who was just approved for a small business loan.”  

He was salt-and-pepper haired, his grin unnervingly wide for his narrow face.  

“Maybe I can connect you two.”  

“I’d appreciate that! Thank you.” 

Mr. West nodded at Evelyn while his wife traced his jawline. He turned his head to snap at her fingers, and when she withdrew her hand, pressed his lips to a spot under her ear. Helen lightly slapped his cheek. 

“Stop that, before my husband sees.” 

Evelyn blinked. 

“You started it,” said the man who was not, as it turned out, Mr. West. “And he won’t see. He’s passed out under the kitchen table.” 

Helen’s expression fell flat. She took hold of his jaw and shoved his face away, eyes stony. 

“My husband is a very dignified man.” 

Evelyn forced a little laugh — she didn’t know what else to do. The chairwoman’s easy smile returned, and she allowed Not-Mr. West to rest his head on her shoulder while she ran a hand up and down his back. He had never stopped smiling. 

“We’re so glad you came,” Mrs. West said. “These things get boring when you only see the same people all the time.” 

Evelyn trailed a thumb down the stem of her champagne glass. “I’m sorry, but, where’s the restroom?” 

She crossed the room, smiling and nodding at anyone she had already spoken to. 

A house full of drunk, susceptible rich people. Who knew if Evelyn would ever get an opportunity like this again? Still, she ached to leave. Every minute she lingered here was another spent talking about her business instead of getting it started. 

As she passed by the window, Evelyn realized with surprise that the white dog was outside on the lawn. His bright, clean coat stood out from the mist. She watched as he lowered his head and nosed the grass impatiently, as if it displeased him somehow. 

Leaving her empty champagne flute in a corner of the floor, Evelyn flagged down the handsome server with the tray of pastry-wrapped sausages. She gathered a few of the hors d’oeuvres into a paper napkin and slipped out the back door. 

“Hello, again!” 

The dog regarded her blankly, then returned to sniffing the ground. “You took my advice.” 

“Why aren’t you more happy to see me? You’re a dog.” Evelyn bent over slightly and patted her thighs — it was the habitual method of summoning her family’s chocolate lab. “You could at least try to lick my face.” 

The dog tilted back his ears. “You want me to lick your face?”  

Evelyn laughed. “No, not exactly…” 

“I’ll have you know, I used my tongue to clean a certain part of my anatomy recently.” 

“It’s not like I… I thought you would want to. You know, since you’re a dog.” 

The white dog’s expression didn’t change, but she could tell from his unblinking stare that he was deeply offended. 

“I’m leaving.” 

“Wait!” Evelyn took a sausage from the napkin and peeled away the pastry. She stuffed the dough in her mouth and extended the rest as an offering. “I brought you this,” she said between bites. 

The dog’s nose twitched, just once. With a few light-footed steps, he came up to her hand and sniffed. 

“No, thank you. I only eat white meat.” 

“What kind of dog are you?” 

“A purebred samoyed, if you must know. On my mother’s side.” 

“Right,” she said. “But then, what about your father?” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

The winter sun was beginning to set over one of the seven hills of the golf course. Wind rushed up to meet Evelyn and the dog from beneath the densest layers of mist on Clear Pond, smelling of dirt and plant decay. Evelyn’s hat kept her ears warm, but she shivered anyway. She watched the windows of the clubhouse give off a vanilla candle glow.  

“Aren’t you going back in?” asked the dog. 

“I don’t know.” 

He released a little puff of air from his nose, like a suppressed laugh. “Guess it wasn’t going so well.” 

“Actually, it was. I got lots of business cards.” Evelyn felt the stack in her coat pocket.  

“Is that so?” The dog gave a skeptical grunt. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even showed.” 

“Why?” Evelyn looked at him. “It sounded like a good opportunity.” 

“Because I know your type,” he said.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re an Omega.”   

Fog swirled around them as twilight crept in. It seemed to be getting thicker.  

“You reek of desperation,” the dog said. “It’s highly unlikely that an Omega will amount to anything, and after all, not everyone can start their own business. You came here to network, and maybe that says something, but—” The dog sniffed Evelyn’s coat. “My evaluation remains the same. Without an Alpha or a pack leader, you won’t get far.” 

Evelyn wiped a bit of chilled sweat from the back of her neck, thinking there might be some truth to the dog’s words. She was no businesswoman. That party could have been a fluke, an isolated incident, and she would probably never hear from any of those people again. 

The dog returned to thrusting his nose into the grass. Evelyn took a few deep breaths. She lifted a hand to her hat.   

“You’re wrong about me,” she said.   

“Am I.”    

“I’m going to start a business.” She drew herself up to her full height. “And I’m going to sell artisanal soap.” 

“Oh, please!” The dog’s head jerked up. “What’s so great about soap?” 

“Glad you asked,” Evelyn said, putting on the smile she’d learned how to use that day. “Our all-natural, ethically-sourced—” 

“It was a rhetorical question.” The dog turned away, swinging his tail. “It’s getting dark. I should go.” 

“Not yet.” Evelyn tried to grab hold of his collar, and he barely managed to dodge. 

“Watch it!” the dog barked. 

“You’re going to stay and listen to my business pitch,” Evelyn said. “Sit!” 

“I don’t take orders from you!” 

The dog started down the slope, but Evelyn ran after him, grabbing for his collar again. This time she took hold, but he broke free with a yelp and started sprinting down the hill. 

Evelyn ran after him. 

Her body was still buzzing from the party’s champagne and she could barely feel the movement of her limbs. Her joints were butter. The dog was a white blur of fur, weaving through the woods with swift side-sweeping motions. He leaped over the chain next to the NO TRESPASSING sign. Evelyn made the same jump and stumbled upon landing, but resumed running immediately. 

Her alcohol-induced numbness didn’t last. Soon, her chest ached. Her lungs cried out. When did she get so out of shape? Evelyn’s coat was a sandbag that thrashed all around her. It didn’t want to run with her. She pictured Jim on the treadmill, his face streaming with sweat as he finished a four-and-a-half minute mile. She couldn’t catch up. She was always a step behind. We’re just not good for each other right now. 

Eventually Evelyn had to stop, doubled over, wheezing.  

“Excuse me.” 

Towering over her in stiletto heels was a woman in a spotless white coat. She could have been peeled off the cover of a fashion magazine. Evelyn rose. 

“Yes?” 

“That is not your hat.” 

The white dog strolled over and flopped down at the woman’s feet with his tongue lolled out. His fluffy tail fell in a curl around his legs in a display of effortless animal elegance. Evelyn watched him settle down before turning her attention to the woman. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

“The hat. I would like it back.” 

Her voice was so calm and authoritative that it dulled the panic sounding from Evelyn’s gut. It took a moment to fully register what was happening. Her hands flew to her head. 

“This is mine!” 

The woman’s eyes bore into her like ice picks. 

“I-I mean,” Evelyn said, “Maybe it only looks like yours.” 

“That hat belongs to my twelve-year-old niece. And I would recognize it anywhere: she lost it weeks ago and refuses to wear a different one.” 

The dog barked, startling them both. The owner knelt and attached a white leather leash to his collar. 

“Quiet, Pancake!” she hissed.  

“Pancake?” 

The dog avoided Evelyn’s eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t dare speak a word in his owner’s presence. The woman snapped her fingers and held out her hand. 

“Give me the hat. Don’t make me ask again.” 

“But… I…” she tried to think of anything she could say to explain what this one piece of clothing meant to her. “I need it,” was all that came out. 

The woman stared Evelyn down until she began to wither. It took about fifteen seconds. 

“You’ve wasted enough of my time,” she said. 

It was over. Evelyn’s hands shook as she raised them to her temples. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her skull, heavy and slow, stretching each moment to capacity as her fingers pulled the warm, soft material back from her forehead. She held the pale blue hat for the last time before the white dog’s owner snatched it away. 

“There.” The woman dropped it into the expensive-looking leather bag slung over her shoulder. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? I even think you look better without it.” 

With a dazzling smile on her face, she extended her right hand and lifted Evelyn’s hair by the roots. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes glittered evilly. She turned, yanking the dog’s leash. 

“Come on, Pancake! We’re leaving.”    

At that moment, the straps of the leather bag with the hat inside slipped from the woman’s shoulder. They slid down her arm until the bag itself was supported between her wrist and hip. 

Evelyn knew she wouldn’t get another chance like this. She grabbed the bag, pulled it free, and took off running with it pressed against her chest. 

“THIEF!” the woman screeched.  

Evelyn kept running. The woman kept shouting, but there was no way she’d catch up in those heels. Evelyn heard the tags jingling on Pancake’s collar — his owner must have dropped the leash. She pumped one of her arms and willed her legs to go faster, even though she was already tired and knew she couldn’t outrun the white dog anyway. 

Pancake was gaining on her, gearing up to sink his jaws into her calf. She wouldn’t even hold it against him. It was all so stupid. Evelyn had never made soap, sold soap, or even really thought about soap before. Except… 

As air sliced through her hungry lungs, it came back in a rush: last year, at the fancy health food store. She was scanning the shelves for something — fair trade chocolate? An organic blackberry pie, for dinner with Jim’s parents? Whatever it was, she’s not sure she found it. All she remembers are the soaps in the beauty aisle.  

They were clear blocks with flowers and herbs suspended inside: lemon rind and rosemary and lavender, fragrant and smooth to the touch. Scent triggers memory, Evelyn knew that, but each bar of soap transported her to places she had never been. Springtime mountain ranges and meadows of windblown forget-me-nots. An island cast into a vast, serene ocean, with green waves lapping the shore. An old log cabin with a leaping fire and a stranger who would squeeze her hand and smile; someone who, just by looking at her, told her she could do anything.   

Evelyn shut her eyes and focused on breathing. With each inhalation, she knew what she was running towards.