Page 51 of Truck Me
I let out a deep sigh. “I better go. My next client should be here soon, and I still have to set up. Not that there’s a lot to do or prepare for these people. This salon has never heard of customer care cards.”
“Oh no! However will you function?”
“Oh shush.” I chuckle. She’s always picked on me about the detailed note cards I kept on all my clients. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and drop my phone on the counter next to me.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I can have a little fun with Garret while still being here for my family. It’s not like my family needs me twenty-four seven. I can take a little time for myself.
That is, assuming Garret is interested in a repeat of the other night.
I guess there’s only one way to find out. I just have to be brave enough to ask him.
* * *
I’ve never seen so much gray hair in all my life. Not that there’s anything wrong with a woman embracing her gray. Gray is stylish and sexy. But the women who frequent Mrs. Engle’s hair salon aren’t just gray. They’re all over the age of seventy. None of them are interested in my skills or knowledge of trending styles and cutting techniques.
These women all have the same perm and bobbed cut that falls just below the ears. Even if it doesn’t look right on them, they do it. It’s like they’re all stuck in a 1950s sitcom and don’t realize time moved on.
“You know, Mrs. Hoffman, I think your hair would look good if we cut it a little shorter. With your bone structure, taking it up in the back with clippers would look really good on you.”
Her face falls into a deep frown and she stares at me in the mirror on the wall opposite us. She’s been here for about ten minutes and spent most of that time gabbing instead of letting me get to work on her hair.
“Oh, I don’t know. That sounds so different from what Mrs. Engle does.” She presses a hand to her chest and mock gasps. I fight to stop from rolling my eyes at her theatrics. “I just don’t know if I can do it.”
“We could start with an inch or so. See if you like that.” I rest my hands over the ends of her hair and push it up slightly so she can see what I mean. To my surprise, her eyes light up and a small smile lifts her lips.
“Maybe a little wouldn’t hurt. It’ll always grow back if I don’t like it.”
“Yes, it will. That’s the beauty of hair.” I pat her shoulder before I grab the cape to wrap over her. “I promise to make you look fabulous. It’s my specialty.”
Her smile grows. “Well, now. I suppose it is. I mean, with that fancy job you had in Chicago and all. I reckon you’re the most skilled stylist in the state.”
“I don’t know about that.” I chuckle. “But I do know a thing or two about hair. Now let’s get you shampooed.”
“We’re lucky to have you, dear,” she says as I lead her to the sink. “Good riddance to that city and its gossip rags. I just can’t believe they let people print such things.”
I give her a tight smile as she leans back in the chair and positions her head in the sink, but I don’t respond. I still haven’t spoken to anyone other than Sierra about what Brad did, and I don’t want to start now.
Thankfully, she stops talking while the sprayer is on and I suds up her hair. Unfortunately, the moment I’m done washing it, she starts up again.
“And the way that man treated you. I have never in all my life seen someone behave so poorly. Not that I saw him do that to you, but I read all the papers and they made it sound just awful. And to think he did it right as you proposed to him. That must have broken your heart.”
“Broken hearts happen,” I say through gritted teeth, though I don’t think she notices. “I’m recovering just fine.”
“Oh that’s good. A pretty girl like you probably has suitors lining up. I bet if your daddy was feeling better, he’d be beating them away with a baseball bat. How is your daddy doing, by the way? I haven’t seen your parents at church in some time now.”
I let out a deep sigh. I don’t want to talk about Dad any more than I want to talk about Brad, but I guess I don’t get a choice in that.
“As good as can be expected with dementia. He has his good days and his bad.”
“I suppose. I just hate that your family is going through that. We pray for him and your momma every Sunday.”
“I’ll be sure and tell Mom that. She’ll be happy to hear it.”