Mrs. Van Damme’s finger waves took Delaney just under an hour. When she was finished, she watched the older woman write out a check, then she helped her with her coat.
“Thanks for coming in,” she said as she walked her to the door.
“Silky drawers,” Wannetta reminded her and slowly moved down the street.
Ten minutes after Mrs. Van Damme left, a woman came in with her three-year-old son. Delaney hadn’t given a child a cut since beauty school, but she hadn’t forgotten how. After the first snip, she wished she had. The little boy pulled at the small plastic cape she’d found in the storage room as if she were choking him. He writhed and fussed and continually yelled NO! at her. Cutting his hair turned into a wrestling match. She was sure if she could just tie him up and sit on him, she could get the job done in a hurry.
“Brandon’s such a good boy,” his mother cooed from the neighboring chair. “Mommy’s so proud.”
Incredulous, Delaney stared at the woman who’d decked herself out in Eddie Bauer and REI. The woman looked to be in her early to mid-forties, and reminded Delaney of a magazine article she’d read in the dentist office questioning the wisdom of older women producing children from old eggs.
“Does Brandon want a good-boy fruit snack?”
“No!” screeched the product of her old egg.
“Done,” Delaney said when she finished and threw her hands upward like a champion calf roper. She charged the lady fifteen dollars with the hope Brandon would plague Helen next time. She swept up the child’s white-blond curls, then flipped the Out to Lunch sign and walked to the corner deli for her usual, turkey on whole wheat. For several months she’d eaten her lunch at the deli and had gotten to know the owner, Bernard Dalton, on a first-name basis. Bernard was in his late thirties and a bachelor. He was short, balding, and looked like a man who enjoyed his own cooking. His face was always slightly pink, as if he were a little out of breath, and the shape of his dark mustache made him appear as if he always wore a smile.
The lunch rush was slowing as Delaney stepped into the restaurant. The shop smelled of ham, pasta, and chocolate chip cookies. Bernard looked up from the dessert case, but his gaze quickly slid away. His face turned several shades pinker than usual.
He’d heard. He’d heard the rumor and he obviously believed it.
She cast a glance about the deli, at the other customers staring at her, and she wondered how many had listened to the gossip. She suddenly felt naked and forced herself to walk to the front counter. “Hello, Bernard,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I’ll have a turkey on whole wheat like I usually have.”
“Diet Pepsi?” he asked, moving toward the meat case.
“Yes, please.” She kept her gaze pinned to the little “Extra Pennies” cup by the cash register. She wondered if the whole town believed she’d had sex with Nick in her front window. She heard hushed voices behind her and was afraid to turn around. She wondered if they were talking about her, or if she was just being paranoid.
Usually she took her sandwich to a small table by the window, but today she paid for her lunch and hurried back to her salon. Her stomach was in knots and she had to force herself to eat a portion of her meal.
Nick. This mess was his fault. Whenever she let her guard down around him, she always paid for it. Whenever he decided to charm her, she always lost her dignity, if not her clothes.
At a little after two, she had a client who needed her straight black hair trimmed, and at three-thirty Steve, the backhoe driver she’d met at Louie and Lisa’s Fourth of July party, walked into the salon bringing in a wisp of cool autumn with him. He wore a jean jacket with sheared sheep lining. His cheeks were pink and his eyes bright, and his smile told her he was glad to see her. Delaney was glad to see a friendly face. “I need a haircut,” he confessed.
With one quick glance, she took in the shaggy condition of his hair. “You sure do,” she said and motioned toward her booth. “Hang up your coat and come on back.”
“I want it short.” He followed her and pointed to a spot above his right ear. “This short. I wear a lot of ski hats in the winter.”
Delaney had something in mind that would look awesome on him, and she’d get to use her clippers, too. Something she’d been dying to do again for months now. His hair would have to be dry so she sat him in the salon chair. “I haven’t seen you around much,” she said as she combed out his golden tangles.
“We’ve been working a lot to get done before the first snow, but now things have slowed down.”
“What do you do in the winter for a job?” she asked, and fired up the clippers.
“Collect unemployment and ski,” he spoke over the steady buzz.
Unemployment and skiing would have appealed to her when she’d been twenty-two, also. “Sounds like fun,” she said, cutting up and away in an arching motion and leaving the hair longer at his crown.
“It is. We should ski together.”
She would have loved to, but the closest resort was outside Truly city limits. “I don’t ski,” she lied.
“Then what if I come and pick you up tonight? We could grab a bite to eat then drive down to Cascade for a movie.”
She couldn’t go to Cascade, either. “I can’t.”
“Tomorrow night?”
Delaney held the clipper aloft and looked in the mirror at him. His chin was on his chest and he looked up at her through eyes so big and blue she could drive a boat through them. Maybe he wasn’t too young. Maybe she should give him another chance. Then maybe she wouldn’t be so lonely and vulnerable to the pied piper of pheromones. “Dinner,” she said and resumed her cutting. “No movie. And we can only be friends.”
His smile was a combination of innocence and guile. “You might change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“What if I tried to change it for you?”
She laughed. “Only if you don’t get too obnoxious about it.”
“Deal. We’ll go slow.”
Before Steve left, she gave him her home telephone number. By four-thirty, she’d had four clients total and an appointment to do a foil weave for the next afternoon. The day hadn’t been all bad.
She was tired and looked forward to a long soak in the bathtub. With half an hour remaining before she could close, she kicked back in a salon chair with some of her hair braiding books for brides. Lisa’s wedding was less than a month away, and Delaney was looking forward to styling her friend’s hair.
The bell above the front door rang, and she looked up as Louie walked in. Deep red mottled his cheeks like he’d been outside all day, and his hands were stuck in the pockets of his blue canvas coat. A deep wrinkle furrowed his brow, and he didn’t look like he’d come to get his hair cut.
“What can I do for you, Louie?” She stood and walked behind the counter.
He quickly looked about the salon, then settled his dark gaze on her. “I wanted to talk to you before you closed for the day.”
“Okay.” She set down her braiding book and opened the cash register. She shoved money into a black Naugahyde bag, and when he didn’t speak right away, she looked up at him. “Shoot.”
“I want you to stay away from my brother.”
Delaney blinked twice and slowly zipped the money bag closed. “Oh,” was all she managed.
“In less than a year you’ll be gone, but Nick will still live here. He’ll have to run his business here, and he’ll have to live with all the gossip you two create.”
“I didn’t mean to create anything.”
“But you did.”
Delaney felt her cheeks grow hot. “Nick assured me he doesn’t care what people say about him.”
“Yeah, that’s Nick. He says a lot of things. Some of them he actually means, too.” Louie paused and scratched his nose. “Look, like I said, you’re leaving in under a year, but Nick will have to listen to the gossip about you after you’re gone. He’ll have to live it down-again.”