Молли Харпер - And One Last Thing...

“Oh, that’s good,” I muttered.

Mama took my face in her hands and forced me to focus on her question. “Who’s Monroe?”

“The man Lacey owes a big apology,” Emmett said.

“Oh, honey, you didn’t write something about him, did you?” Mama asked, shaking her head and clucking her tongue.

“No,” I mumbled. “It’s a normal relationship apology.”

“Relationship!” Mama exclaimed. “When did you have time to start a relationship? And how did you meet someone? You’ve been living in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, she didn’t have to look far,” Emmett said, smirking.

“Hidden piercings,” I said in a warning tone.

“Shutting up now,” promised Emmett.

“I’ll never understand the two of you,” Mama sighed. “Well, Emmers, it’s sweet that you put your sister up, but it would be best if she came on home. It would give her more time to tell me about this Monroe character.” She gave me a pointed look.

“Mama, I can’t come back to your house. I’m not staying at Emmett’s place permanently either. I’m just there for a few days and then, I don’t know what. I’ll figure something out.”

“Lace,” Emmett protested. “There’s no need to -”

Mama sighed, “But if you would just -”

“No,” I repeated. “You two can’t keep passing me back and forth like I’m some emotionally handicapped tennis ball. I love you guys, but I’ve managed to dress myself, and feed myself, and live on my own for the last several months without withering away and dying. I know I came down here looking for help, but sometimes that means ‘Just listen to me while I vent,’ not ‘Please take over my whole life.’ Now, I’d like to keep working here, Emmett, if it’s okay with you, but I think we can agree I need my own place, whether it’s up at the lake or here in town. Mama, don’t argue. I need my own space, and my own things, and room to make the huge mistakes I know you’re going to try to protect me from.” Emmett frowned, but seemed mollified when I added, “But I am keeping the clothes, though, because they’re really cute.”

“Will you at least let me make you an appointment with Dorie, honey, because this needs work,” Mama said, gesturing to my head.

“Hey, I did that!” Emmett explained.

“Oh…” Mama said. “It’s lovely, really.”

“In Emmett’s defense, it’s grown out a little since he cut it,,, said. ”And I didn’t put much effort into grooming this morning.”

Emmett cleared his throat.

“Fine, this week.”

My head ached dully at the thought of going to a salon, a public place, filled with women who would have dissected and discussed every little detail of my divorce. Face-to-face, they’d put on sweet smiles and make polite small talk and act like nothing had happened. The minute my back was turned, the whispering would start. But I’d put off dealing with this for long enough. I was going to have to deal with it eventually. Better to jump headlong into the icy pool than slide back into Singletree’s social circle one toe at a time.

I told Mama, “Please make an appointment with Dorie. Not because either of you told me I need it, but because I’d actually like to have some input into my haircut and not just wake up with a new one.” I scowled at my brother, who seemed more miffed than ever.

Mama smiled triumphantly and whipped out her cell phone. Our shared stylist’s number was on speed dial, between Daddy and poison control. “Dorie, hi, honey, it’s Deb. I’ve got a bit of a hair emergency here. Lacey’s in town and she could use a cut if you have a spot open.” Mama’s grin faltered a bit. “Oh, I see.”

Emmett shot me a confused look. I shrugged.

“Well, I suppose that will be fine,” Mama said, somewhat stiffly. “I understand that you’re booked up. Yes, that will be fine.” She hung up the phone. “Dorie says you can come by tomorrow at four.”

“Okay,” I said. “You seem a little upset about that.”

“Dorie’s never made me wait before,” Mama said. “She’s kept the shop open late for me when I needed a last-minute appointment. She opened up at the crack of dawn that morning I woke up with orange hair because the chlorine in the Terwilligers’ pool -” Mama gasped. “Wynnie got to her.”

“Mama, Wynnie doesn’t even go to that salon,” I said, laughing.

“No, but Dorie’s husband works for your soon-to-be former father-in-law,” Emmett reasoned. “This could be her subtle way of showing where her loyalties lie.”

“In the Great Hair Wars?” I laughed. “Mama, has Dorie treated you any differently since the e-mail?” Mama shook her head. “Then I’m sure she just didn’t have room for me on the schedule. I’ll go tomorrow and it will be fine. There is no mass salon conspiracy or darker purpose at work here.”

But from the moment I walked into the Uniquely You salon, I knew I was wrong. The salon was packed with the usual Friday afternoon primping-for-the-weekend crowd, and the moment I walked through the door, everyone stopped talking. Plump, pleasant Dorie Watkins blanched at the sight of me, her mouth set in a grim line as her baby-doll blue eyes flicked to the peach and chrome shampoo station in the back.

“Hi, Lacey,” Janey Radner ventured. “It’s nice to see you.”

I smiled politely, plucking at the long-sleeved red jersey dress Emmett insisted I wear, with a red-and-jet-bead lariat and killer heels. It had been so long since I’d worn a skirt or heels, it had felt almost alien to slide them on, like a skin I’d shed a long time ago. But now I was glad I’d slipped into one of the nicer outfits Emmett had purchased for me. I wanted to combat those insistent “dumpy sweatsuit and snake tattoo” rumors.

Dorie cleared her throat nervously. “Um, Lacey, I’m running a little behind on another appointment. It will take me a little while to finish up. Do you want to maybe have a manicure while you wait? Judy’s free. Or we could just reschedule.”

Judy Messer, a sweet girl I’d gone to high school with, waved at me from the rear of the shop. “Sure, my hands are a wreck. Are you okay, Dorie?”

Dorie insisted she was fine, but I couldn’t help but notice the way she kept angling me away from the shampoo station, pushing me to the rear of the shop. When Shelly, the shampoo girl, gently raised the chair up and began toweling the client in question’s hair, I realized it wasn’t just another woman, it was the other woman. Beebee, in all her bronzed and lacquered glory, shot me a triumphant look as she was led to Dorie’s station and seated. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. The scent of perm solution roiled across my nostrils, making me dizzy and nauseous. The roar of the dryers grated on my eardrums. My grip on my temper was getting more tenuous by the second.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I demanded.

“Getting a trim,” Beebee said, smirking at me. “You might consider it, honey, you’ve got some split ends showing. Now, exactly who the hell do you think you are, showing your face around here again?”

I smiled and stretched my hand out as if to offer a friendly shake. She flinched dramatically, as if I’d taken a swing at her. I rolled my eyes. “I know it must be difficult for you to keep track of all of the wives of the married men you’ve slept with, so I’ll help you out. I’m Lacey, Mike’s wife. You’re living in my house, sleeping in my bed, oh, and, driving my car.”

Over Dorie’s shoulder, I saw Pam Hamilton watching our exchange with glee. Behind her, Felicity Clark was pretending to read a magazine, but was obviously memorizing every word and expression.

“Someone doesn’t like being replaced,” Beebee singsonged in a silly Betty Boop voice that made me want to smack her.