Page 24 of Truck Me
It’s clean and screams country. Not my style, but it’s not awful either.
“It’s my lucky day. Charlotte Weber, as she lives and breathes.” Mrs. Engle’s voice croons from the doorway in the back corner. “I was hoping you’d grace me with a visit.”
I give her my best pageant smile. “Hi, Mrs. Engle.”
“Are you here for a cut? Or maybe a touch up in your color. I actually have an opening this afternoon if you’d like.”
I inwardly cringe at the thought of Mrs. Engle touching my hair. As a stylist, I take great pride in my hair and only let the best of the best touch it. I’ve no clue what I’m going to do now that I’ve moved back home.
“No, actually. I heard you might be looking for some help. I’m going to be in town for the foreseeable future to help Mom with Dad but I’m starting to get antsy just sitting around the house all the time.”
“Oh, well!” She presses her hand to her chest, her eyes widening, and her jaw slightly dropped. “I’d be honored to have someone with your experience and expertise working beside me. And a former beauty queen. That would surely bring in the younger girls. I’ve been struggling with that growth, you know. They all want to go to those fancy salons in Jackson or Waverly. Some even drive all the way to Chillicothe to get a cut. Which is ridiculous since I’m right here.”
I do my best to hold my smile, all the while thinking to myself that I don’t think driving to Chillicothe is far enough to find a great stylist. I might be driving all the way to Columbus to find one. A two-hour drive isn’t too far for hair, is it? Not in my opinion.
“I’d be happy to help out however I can.”
She beams at me like this is the best news she’s received in years. “Then consider yourself hired.”
“Really?” I ask, sounding hopeful. “You don’t want to see my resume?”
She waves me off like that’s the dumbest thing I could say. “Dear, I know your reputation. You’re probably the best stylist in the state, if not the entire tri-state area. Now, the pay won’t be anything like you’re used to, and I’m sure you’ll balk at our rates. But I’ll let you keep eighty percent of all your sales, plus tips. I guess maybe I should really consider that second chair now if you’re going to be working here. Can’t share a chair now, can we?”
“No, not very well.”
“Then again, I’m hoping to step back and work less. Can’t keep doing this forever. Either way, we’ll figure it out. When would you like to start?”
A little caught off guard by how quickly she hired me, I stumbled over that question. “Um … I guess … Whenever. There’s nothing stopping me from starting right away.”
“How about first thing Monday morning? That gives me time to get the word out that you’ll be working here. I’ll transfer some of my appointments to you and investigate what it’d take to get a second chair in here. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, both excited and a little queasy at the prospect of working here. No more rich and famous styles for me. “Sounds great.”
Over the next twenty minutes, she shows me around the shop. It’s really a converted house. There’s two bedrooms in the back that serve as an office and storage. The kitchen is still fully functioning and there’s two bathrooms. One is for customers, and one is private, for employees only.
After filling out some paperwork, I’m heading out the door with a smile on my face. For the first time since losing my life in Chicago, something has gone my way. Working at a small-town hair salon may not be much, and it’s certainly not Fringe, but it’s something.
And that’s all I need to give me a little hope that everything will one day be right again in my life.
Chapter 6
Once a fissure forms, it can’t be stopped.
Garret
I’ve been here for five minutes, and I already regret coming.
Grams so rarely stops by my house, so when she showed up today to invite me to dinner, I couldn’t tell her no. I’ve never been able to tell Grams no, and she knows it.
I may be a thirty-two-year-old man, but when she asks me to do something, I do it. Thank fuck she doesn’t abuse that power of hers. Lord only knows what she’d have me doing.
Tonight, my brothers are in rare form, joking and teasing each other like it’s a sport.
I’m doing my best to sit quietly in my seat at the table and mind my own damn business. If I don’t engage, then maybe they won’t either.
I love my family. I just don’t like talking about myself or getting too involved in all the personal stuff. Personal stuff makes me uncomfortable.
“You playing in the poker game next month?” Chase asks as he plops down in the chair next to me. Chase is younger than me by two years. He also has an identical twin, Christian, but Chase is the friendlier of the two. Too friendly if you ask me. Christian’s quiet, broody demeanor is more my style. But he’s not here tonight as far as I can tell.