Chapter 9

MIKE

Ipulled up outside the Wood Rose Salon. It was the only hair place in town, if you didn't count the pastor who gave out free buzz cuts to kids before school started. Some people cut their own hair or had their wives or girlfriends do it. I had never been that kind of guy. For just a couple of bucks, I knew I could get a professional cut that wouldn't make me look like a cheapskate. Plus, the additional feeling of looking good made me feel good, even if it was just for a little.

It was my day off, and without anything better to do, I decided I would fix the mess on top of my head. I walked through the door and stopped. Tammy sat at the reception desk, looking for all the world like she belonged there. In the moment before she saw me, I registered the soft curve of her cheeks and the way her hair fell down to her shoulders. She was wearing a soft pink sweater that was innocent and provocative at the same time. Her feminine aura was even further enhanced by the garment, but I decided it would look even better balled up on my bedroom floor.

She glanced up, and a smile lit her eyes. I didn't know what I had expected—that I would never see her again? That she would be angry or indifferent? It had only been a couple of weeks, and she looked as pleased to see me as I was to find her.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," she responded, not getting up.

"You work here?"

"I do. Today's my third day."

"Congratulations, that was fast."

"The owner is a friend of my cousin's," she said. "Are you here for a haircut?"

"Yeah," I responded, suddenly remembering. "How long is the wait?"

She glanced at her computer, "About twenty-five to thirty minutes. We could call you back if you want to…go for a coffee or something."

"I'll wait," I answered too quickly. "How are you settling in?"

"It's great," she responded. "Everyone's been so nice. How's the lumberyard?"

"Same as always." I dodged the topic. "Are you gonna stay with your cousin or look for your own place?"

"I'm gonna look for my own place. What about you?"

"As soon as I can," I promised myself. Every day I worked I was closer to some solitude.

Another customer came through the door, and reluctantly I let her do her job. I sat down in the waiting area and watched her friendly banter with the older woman.

"Oh, my dear," the woman gasped in mock surprise, "what happened to Lucy?"

"I don't know," Tammy said. "I'm sorry. I'm new here. Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes, dear," the woman answered. "Every Thursday at two."

Tammy scanned her computer screen. "Great. Ava will be right with you."

When it was my turn, I went with my usual lady. I didn't know her name, but she always cut my hair. She was tall and fit with long blonde hair, and super friendly to talk to. I think she might have been the owner, because all the other hairstylists seemed to defer to her.

She patted her chair and waited for me to sit down before unfurling a black plastic bib. Centering it around my neck, she said, "Mike? Do you know Tammy, our new receptionist?"

"Yeah," I said. "We met at the Lady a couple weeks ago."

"I heard," Lindsey answered, spritzing my head with water. "She asked about you."

"She did?" I sat up straight, interested.

"One of my best friends is her cousin, and when she found out that we had both grown up in Singer's Ridge, she asked if I knew you."

I frowned. I wasn't sure what the hairstylist knew, but if she had heard any of the gossip from the rumor mill, it couldn't be good. It seemed like everyone in town had an opinion about my sobriety. I hoped that she hadn't shared any of that information with Tammy.

Lindsey continued talking as if nothing were amiss. "I told her I knew you and that you were cute." She laughed.

I exhaled in relief. Tammy had found the one person in Singer's Ridge who didn't know I had spent six months in jail. Thank goodness for small favors. Lindsey took her scissors and comb and began trimming my hair. I glanced in the mirror and found I could see Tammy's reflection, all the way across the room. She was on the phone, talking to a customer about an appointment or a bill or something.

"If you want her number, I can give it to you," Lindsey said.

I considered the offer. Way back when I thought I would never see her again, I would have jumped at the opportunity to learn Tammy's number. I had been over and over that drive in my mind, replaying everything that had been said. Should I have let it go? Was she really just looking for a one-and-done, or would she have been receptive to more? If I had asked for her phone number, would she have given it to me? Or would she have politely reminded me that I had signed up to be merely a way to forget an ex-boyfriend?

Now that I knew where she worked, it seemed less urgent. I still wanted her number. I wanted to take her out for a real dinner, somewhere outside of Singer's Ridge. I wanted to bring her home to an apartment that I had signed a lease on, somewhere far from the lumberyard. I wanted to take her to the movies, or to a football game, or whatever kind of entertainment she was into. And I wanted to spend long hours alone with her in the dark, licking every inch of her skin.

"I better not," I decided. "I don't want to seem creepy, like I got her phone number without asking her."

"Good point," Lindsey said, combing out another section of my hair. She worked and chatted, not about Tammy, but I got the feeling she was mining information for Tammy. Did I like my job? How long had I worked there? Was I planning to move on?

"The job is good," I said. "I don't mind the job. I've been working there on and off ever since I was in high school. It's really just the living situation that bothers me."

"What living situation is that?" She pulled a lock of hair straight up in the air and snipped it.

"I see too much of my parents," I admitted.

"I wish I had that problem," she responded, combing out the rest of my head.

I felt like an idiot, even if she didn't mean to make me feel bad. Here I was trying to get out from under my mom, not realizing how lucky I was to have her in my life. Lindsey didn't have to elaborate. Tammy had said much the same thing, that she missed her own parents. Without prying, I could only assume they had passed away. I really was ungrateful, and I resolved to do a better job putting up with my mom's bullshit the next time I saw her. I winced. There had to be some kind of happy medium between too much parental interference and none.

"What was that face?" Lindsey asked.

"Nothing," I said. "I gather your parents aren't with us?"

Lindsey shook her head.

"I'll try to remember that the next time my mom sticks her nose in my business," I joked.

Lindsey smiled. "I'm sure she tries your patience."

"She does," I agreed. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Well." Lindsey leaned away from the uncomfortable topic by spinning me in my chair so I could evaluate her work.

It looked good. I thanked Lindsey and waited for her to remove the bib and brush my shoulders off before I stood and went to the reception desk. Tammy looked up from her computer, her smile warming my soul.

"It looks good," she said.

"Thanks," I responded. "Your boss knows her stuff."

Tammy lowered her voice to whisper. "She's a pretty good boss too, so far."

I leaned forward conspiratorially. "Let me know if that changes."

"I will," she promised. "That'll be fourteen dollars."

I added a six-dollar tip and gave Tammy a twenty. "Keep the change."

She smiled and fit the cash into her till drawer. She looked up at me, seeming to expect something more. Was she waiting for a handshake or for a kiss? Did she expect me to ask her out again or to say something witty? We hung there for a moment, locked into each other's eyes, hesitating on the brink of something more.

"Well, thank you," I said, cutting the tension with the most mundane phrase I could think of.

"See you around," she said. It was almost exactly the same conversation we had when I dropped her off at her cousin's place.

I stepped outside and went to my truck. I got all the way to the driver's seat, with my key in the ignition, before courage and logic won out. So what if she had said that she was only interested in one night? We had fun together. She was beautiful, smart, and funny, and I wanted to see her again. The worst thing she could possibly do was say no, and I could live with that. At least I wouldn't be kicking myself over and over about not asking her like I had been for the past two weeks. If we were both sticking around in this town for the foreseeable future, then all I can do is try and keep trying.

I climbed out of the truck, slammed the door, and walked back into the salon. "Can I have your phone number?" I declared before she had a chance to look up.

"Yes." She smiled, showing rows of perfect white teeth beneath lips I knew to be soft and fragrant.

She waited for me to pull out my phone and then gave me her number without any hesitation. There was no awkward discussion of boundaries or attempts to avoid something potentially serious. It was as if she had been waiting for me to ask, like maybe she had changed her mind about the nature of our relationship.

"Thanks," I said, not sticking around to celebrate my victory. I got right back in my truck and drove away, feeling high off the whole encounter.

Now that I had her number, I could call her whenever I wanted. If I wanted. I could text her the traditional booty-call message "u up?" in the middle of the night. It was a lifeline to a future that I was becoming more comfortable imagining. Maybe I would get tickets to a concert and offer to take her or come up with some better reason for asking her out. Maybe we could just talk, like teenagers do when they're going steady.

I resolved not to touch the contact until I knew what I wanted. I owed her that much. Now that there was a possibility of something more, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to pursue it. Had the magic existed just because it was fleeting, or did we have a chance at happily ever after? I ruminated all the way home, feeling the conflict fester in my rib cage. Something had changed, though. While I still couldn't get her out of my mind, now there was a tiny spark of hope. I had asked her if we could stay in touch, and she hadn't said no. I was in a much better mood, so when my mom asked me to take a drug test again I didn't even throw a fit. I even kissed her on the cheek when I was done.