You might think the book’s title is a little silly — a dress made of fish? Not quite. Nora’s dress isn’t stitched from fish skin, but rather it’s adorned with intricate fish symbols and tribal markings. These designs hint at a deeper tradition. In fact, there’s a fascinating group of people called the Nivkh, an Indigenous tribe from the Russian Far East. For centuries, they have been known for crafting beautiful, durable clothing from fish skins — typically salmon — a practice that blends functionality with art. Even today, the Nivkh continue to preserve this ancient tradition, creating garments that are as practical as they are symbolic.
The inspiration behind Nora’s “fish dress” evokes this blend of history, symbolism, and identity.
This month’s blog opens with Nora enjoying a rare moment of calm, relaxing at home on her day off — the perfect setting for her first encounter with the dress that would soon change everything.
Summer 1999
Rocky Harbor, Maine
Today she was thankful for a day off.
Still in her nightgown and robe, Nora settled on the living room couch with her journal. Writing grounded and rooted her, helped her to ride life’s rogue waves, though sometimes she felt as if she were drowning. Her journal lived and breathed confessions, professions, and fantasies.
She was just starting to write when she heard barking out front.
“That goddam Jack Russell terrorist!” A voice joined in the commotion outdoors.
Nora peeked out the window and saw her neighbor patrolling his yard, wearing a bathrobe and slippers, glaring in the direction of her house.
It was a new arrival that had the dog’s attention, not the neighbor. Nora shoved the journal under a cushion. From the living room window, she watched Thomas, his silver hair shining in the morning sun, heft himself from the 1989 Crown Vic she called his land yacht. He wore his usual creased khakis and a pressed polo shirt, unlike most of her friends, who dressed in old T-shirts and torn jeans.
He opened the trunk and pulled out a jumbo-sized green trash bag, which he dragged across the driveway. She knew what was in the bag: things considered junk by Thomas’s employer, Mrs. Carver. The elderly woman told Thomas to take them to the Salvation Army, with orders to have the donated goods shipped overseas. Instead, he would spread the castoffs among Nora, their friend Katrina, and until recently, Grace, who’d always had first dibs. God, how Nora wanted to tell her sister she should have stayed with Thomas.
Nora opened the back door. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“Good morning. Where’s the coffee?” Thomas extended his filigree-embossed Carver mug.
She poured the last of the pot into the cup and eyed the trash bag. “Santa’s come early,” Thomas said. “Mrs. Carver’s been on a rampage, you wouldn’t believe what she’s getting rid of.”
Nora knew all about the Carvers and their luxurious homes, one in every time zone. The family had hired Thomas as a housekeeper in Rocky Harbor eight years earlier. Over time, the job morphed into a 24/7 personal assistant position. Now he also took care of their social obligations, posing as everything from a butler at their dinner parties to a chauffeur for their cultural arts fundraisers. He even had to placate their grown daughter, tend to the spoiled grandchildren, and care for Pipette, a rare yip-yap Belgian breed of dog. He was overworked and underpaid but dedicated to his employers. Grace had frequently complained she never saw him.
Dragging the bag, Thomas followed Nora onto the open porch which overlooked the side yard. She waved to the neighbor who was still scowling, and unhitched her own noisy dog, Margo, from the run before shushing, cuddling, and carrying her onto the porch. Nora settled in the white wicker settee, with Margo nestled in her lap. Thomas joined them, the heavy green sack on the floor in front of them. He set his coffee next to a citronella candle on the lobster trap table.
“Thanks for the gifts,” Nora said. “I love that you let me rummage through Mrs. Carver’s castoffs.”
“I thought you could use some cheering up,” said Thomas. “The last time we talked, you were making a career out of blaming yourself.”
Nora frowned and teared up.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your daughter’s mistakes are hers and hers alone.”
He had said it before, many times, and like every time before, she hugged him for his reassurance.
“You’re a good friend,” Nora said, settling back on the settee.
“Glad somebody appreciates me,” he said, looking glum.
“You’d still be with my sister if you’d said ‘yes’ to getting married. Don’t you think five years is long enough to wait?” Nora saw his frown deepen and added, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re just being a good friend, too.” Thomas jerked his chin at Nora’s feet. “Open the bag.”
“Ah, yes! The treasure trove!” Nora looked around, saw her neighbor still lurking and said, “On second thought, let’s bring it inside.”
Once inside, trash bag on living room rug, and Nora and Thomas on the couch, Nora began pawing through the treasure trove. Margo sniffed around it until she was distracted by her own wagging tail.
“Aren’t we the materialistic junkie,” Thomas joked.
“Look around, do you see a palace?” she asked, waving her hand around the room.
“You and Grace, both incurable bargain hunters. Your happy place is the thrift shop.”
Nora chuckled. “Don’t forget yard sales.”
“But I do see the same hungry look in your eyes as in the Carvers’.”
“They’re all about impressing others with their money,” Nora said dismissively.
“And you’re in it for the beauty of the bargain,” Thomas teased.
Nora had thought more than once that Thomas fed the Carvers’ dependence on him, which cost him Grace, who got fed up with Thomas doing everything for the Carvers and very little to sustain their relationship. But she’d told him that at least as many times as he’d told her to stop feeling guilty, so she didn’t bother to voice it now. Instead, she thought to include him in her discovery game.
“Here Thomas, you pick something out for me.”
He finished the long swig of coffee he was taking, set his mug down, and reached into the bag. “How about these rose petal sheets? They smell like real flowers. I’ll bet they’ve never been slept on.” He handed Nora the tightly-folded linens.
She pressed them to her nose and smelled roses, which reminded her of the pink and yellow roses her mother loved when Nora was younger. The ones that climbed the backyard trellis and interwove among its waffled spaces. Mother’s flowers and gardens had been her world, one that had never fully included her daughters.
Nora eyed a set of Egyptian cotton bath towels, emerald green, with the tags still on. “I could use some new towels.”
Thomas held up several pairs of women’s boots and shoes, size 9.
Nora waived them off. “Too big.”
Next, she pulled out a shiny purple one-piece bathing suit with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline.
“Do people donate swimwear?” she asked with a frown.
Then she withdrew a cling-to-your-body-roll-up-in-a-ball-and-needs-no-ironing metallic jumpsuit.
“If I can ever afford to travel, this might come in handy.” She tossed it over the back of the couch. At the bottom of the bag, Nora lifted a medium-sized box and shook it.
“What’s this? Why is it addressed to a church in Spain?”
“Damn. I was supposed to mail that.” Thomas’s brow wrinkled. “Mrs. Carver wrapped it herself. Whatever’s inside, she wanted no one to know, otherwise it would’ve been my job.” He impersonated his employer in a stern voice and reached for the box.
Nora tightened her grip. “I wonder why she kept it a secret. You’d think she’d want everyone to know.” This time Nora impersonated a haughty voice adding, “What do-gooders the Carvers are. Why, we’re sending something valuable to an overseas church.”
Rubbing his chin, Thomas said, “I think this is different. Her hands were shaking when she gave me the package.”
“Let’s open it,” Nora whispered. “She’ll never know.”
“Don’t even think about it, Nora.”
“I’ll wrap it back up and mail it out tomorrow.” Nora stood up and pulled the box further away from Thomas. “Come on. You’ve told me how crazy she is. Let’s make sure whatever’s inside is safe to send.” Nora circled the couch, putting distance between Thomas and herself. “You don’t want to get outed in the post office for trying to send something toxic. Or flammable. Or worse, pass something bizarre and inappropriate to a church.”
“I really don’t think it’s that interesting,” Thomas said.
“What if it’s underpants? And the priest opens it and dies of shock? That’s bad karma, Thomas. You don’t need that in your life.”
He shrugged and settled back into the couch. “You mean any more than I already have.”
She knew he was referring to Grace and couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Thomas, I’m just being honest. You shouldn’t have strung my sister along for five years. She loved you and wanted to get married, but you wouldn’t commit. And now you come here all hangdog about how sad you are, when it’s your own damn fault.”
The room got quiet. Nora bit her lip, came back around the couch, and sat down next to Thomas. His eyes were closed and she waited a beat before saying, “I’m meeting her at the Lobster Claw this morning. You should come.”
Thomas grunted, opened his eyes, then rolled them and said, “Okay, Miss Nosypants, go ahead and open the damn box.”
Nora was careful not to tear the cardboard while sliding her nail under the packaging tape and breaking the seal. Inside, tucked between tissue layers, was a folded piece of dark fabric.
Thomas squinted. “What the hell? An old blanket?”
Nora held it up to get a better view. The material cascaded down, as if it were relieved to be out of the box. The cardboard clattered to the floor. Margo barked at it.
“A dress!” Nora’s voice was reverent with awe.
Made of black linen, the dress was imprinted with a collage of white fish skeletons and sea creatures with dorsal and tail fins, gills and eye sockets. Beyond their basic structure, the creature frames differed in shape, size and direction. The fish were the only definable, recognizable shapes, while other objects looked like ancient tribal symbols, some circular, some squarish, and others crisscross. Nora’s fingers tingled as she traced the cryptic designs. She couldn’t tell how old the dress was, but she had the same sensation touching it that she felt walking along Maine’s wooded paths, where she sensed the spirits of generations past.
Nora stood up and removed her robe, pulling the dress on over her nightgown. She pushed her chest out, placed a hand on one hip and threw her head back, letting her hair fall over her shoulders and down to her tailbone. Is this really me?
“This must be one of Mrs. Carver’s Caribbean cruise dresses,” Nora mused. “It makes me feel adventurous.”
Thomas grunted again, leaning over to retrieve the item’s box from the floor.
“Don’t get too adventurous with that dress, Miss Nosypants. Remember, you’re mailing it out tomorrow. Mrs. Carver thinks it’s halfway to Spain by now.”
“I just want to wear it for a few more minutes. It feels amazing.” She pushed her hands down over the fabric, the tingling sensation now on her fingers and thighs.
Suddenly Margo was barking and nipping at Nora’s ankles.
“Even the dog knows you shouldn’t be wearing it.” Thomas reached down and rubbed Margo’s head but the animal would not be deterred. She growled at Nora who ignored her.
“Just a little longer.”
Thomas made a face. “Not a good idea. Come on. Take it off.”
Nora moved to the couch and snuggled up to Thomas with a coquettish smile. “Please?”
Thomas cringed away from her, cleared his throat and said, “Taking the dress out of the box was your doing, and it’s your karma, not mine. Plus I hate to burst your bubble but it’s probably not a Caribbean cruise dress if she’s sending it to a church in Spain.” Thomas scooted toward the edge of the couch, getting further from Nora as he did so. “What kind of church would want a dress like that?”
Batting her eyelashes at Thomas, Nora replied, “Maybe it’s the outfit Mrs. Carver wore when she snagged Lawrence. He’s at least fifteen years younger than she is, and plenty rich. Maybe if I wear it, I’ll get lucky, too.”
Thomas stood up. “What are you talking about? Since when do you even want a man?”
Without warning, Nora felt light-headed and closed her eyes, leaning back and resting her head on the couch.
“What did I just say?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair.
“Are you okay?” Thomas was edging toward the door, reaching for his abandoned coffee mug, and watching the dog who hadn’t stopped growling at Nora.
A few seconds passed before Nora opened her eyes and sat up again. “Of course, Thomas. And Margo.” Nora looked down at the dog, who whimpered. “Why wouldn’t I be? Tell me more about Mrs. Carver and the dress.”
Thomas glanced out the front door like he wanted to be somewhere else. “Maybe it’s the dress she was wearing when she tripped over her first husband’s dead body on the living room floor.”
“What?”
“She found him when she came home from the hairdresser.”
“You’re making that up.” Nora wrapped her arms around herself.
“What’s gotten into you? First you’re opening someone else’s mail then you’re getting all…” Thomas cleared his throat. “Fresh. Or something. You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“I’m not usually like this, right?” Nora reached for Margo, who had stopped growling but now sniffed the hem of the dress. “But, really, what would a church want with a dress?”
Thomas scrubbed his palm over his head, as if maybe he wanted a hat for it.
“I don’t pretend to know why Mrs. Carver does what she does.”
“What about the needy people in Rocky Harbor, like me,” Nora said. “Don’t we deserve pretty fish dresses as much as any church?”
“Mrs. Carver thinks there’s no poverty in America, let alone Rocky Harbor.”
“It must be nice to live so insulated.”
“Right? Okay, well I’m out. Nearly time to take Mrs. C for her pedicure and walk Pipette. See how hard they’re working me? It’s a tough gig,” he said, chuckling a little but not without some leftover concern in his voice as he watched Nora trace the fish patterns on the dress.
“High status equals high maintenance,” Nora said. “Thanks for thinking of me and lifting my spirits. I hope you’re doing okay.”
He sighed and walked to the door. “I’ll live. Just don’t forget to mail the dress out.”
“I won’t. Will you meet us for lunch later?”
Thomas frowned. “Can’t. Work.”
Nora kissed him lightly on the cheek before he left. She would be sure to mention the visit, and just how sad he’d been about her, to Grace.
After Thomas left, she wore the dress into her room, closing the door on Margo who yelped her disapproval. Slipping the dress off and laying it on the bed, Nora looked at it more closely. She loved the simplicity. No fancy buttons or zippers, just a scoop neck that allowed her to slip it over her head and be done. She put it on again, this time without her nightgown underneath. Looking in the full-length mirror, she admired the way the top lay against her collarbone, and how the bodice curved and tapered below her waist, then gathered in perfect folds that settled slightly above her ankles. Most times she couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror but today she was drawn to it, twirling to get a good view from all angles.
“I’m going to call you the fish dress!” she announced.
In the mirror, Nora saw herself as she never had before. Her eyes looked more green than blue, and a tinge of gray made her think of the ocean colors the fish on this dress might have swum in. She saw how long her reddish-blonde hair was, so long her older students had recently asked if she was trying out for the role of Rapunzel in the school play. And today her hair had a golden tone she could boast as her own, not the result of some bottle concoction.
She’d been living behind a mask, hiding for so long, from the truth, from herself, from everyone in her life. The dress made her feel free from the past. She playfully proclaimed, “I’m looking through new lenses untainted by ghosts of the past,” and blew a kiss to the mirror. A violet blue halo appeared around her—a band of blinding light emanating from the dress.
Nora found a puffy satin hanger and hung the dress in the closet—just for the night. Back in her nightgown, she opened the door, stepped past Margo, found her journal and started writing.
Can you believe it? I swear this dress has a magical effect on me. I feel better and look better already. I know I should send it off tomorrow, but I’d sure like to keep it—just for a little while…
Stay tuned — Nora’s journey with the fish dress is just beginning, and there’s much more to come…