Toward the Sound of Chaos (8 page)

I
still with the comb in Virginia’s hair. Her smile is rapturous but her eyes are
cunning.

“Ellie
Mason, have you been holding out on us?” Miss Maggie crows.

I
shake my head and section off Virginia’s shoulder-length bob. Combing it
through, I begin cutting. “Wherever did you hear that?”

“I
stopped by Josephine’s for coffee on the way here. She said that Emma Jean had
spotted the two of you this morning leaving this very house. Olivia Anders just
so happened to be picking up coffee at the same time, and she told us how close
y’all are becoming.”

“Jake
and I are friends, nothing more,” I say matter-of-factly, hoping like hell to
shut this conversation down before it goes any further. I am going to kill my
best friend. Right after I get done ogling the hot Marine in my driveway.
Everyone knows you don’t tell Josephine and Emma Jean nothing. Neither one of
them have a lick of sense between them, and they can’t keep their mouths shut
if their lives depend on it. I do not need to be the talk of any more
speculation.

There
are single mothers enough in Fairhope—it isn’t like I’m the only one—but thanks
to a few of Spencer’s ill-timed meltdowns, and a bunch of ignorance, I
certainly am the most talked about. I’m not ashamed of my boy, and I’m not
afraid of being seen leaving my house with Jake either. All those Belles can go
kiss my little behind. I’d be proud to be the woman on Jake Tucker’s arm.
Assuming
he’d let me touch him, that is.

I
stare out at the man in question as he bends over the hood of my car. I can’t
figure him out. How is it possible for one man to go from experiencing the kind
of torment I saw reflected in his eyes last night to the easy way he was with
me and Spence this morning and not get whiplash? My head is still reeling from
the sexy smirk he gave when we were leaning against my car earlier.

“Angel,
just do as you’re told for once.”

I
shiver. Is it wrong to want to do whatever that man tells me to?

“Oh
honey, that hair ain’t gonna get much shorter,” Miss Chelle yells from beneath
the blow-dryer and to my absolute horror I stare down at Virginia’s hair. All
eight inches of it. Instead of giving her a little light shaping around her
nape, I’ve given the woman a Kris Jenner pixie cut. It’s a great Kris Jenner
pixie cut—apparently I can do it better than Kris Jenner’s own hairstylist can,
and practically with my eyes closed—but it is definitely not a trim like she
asked. I clasp my hand over my mouth to cover the gasp.

When
Virginia finally glances up from her magazine, she doesn’t bother to hide her
alarm. “Oh my God. What have you done?”

“Er
. . . nothing that I can’t fix,” I say, but there is no fixing this. “Maybe
with a wig, or some of those clip-in pieces?” In all my years, I’ve never messed
up a client’s cut. “I am so sorry,” I say, and grab the razor comb just to
ensure I’ve given her the very best shaping and enough texture in the back.

“Don’t
you dare,” she says, meeting my gaze in the mirror. I shrink back.

“I
am so sorry, Virginia.” I reach out and remove the cape from her, wincing when
several long wisps of hair fall to the floor. “Obviously, I won’t be charging
you for today.”

Or
ever again.
What was that I’d said about not being able to get rid of her?
Virginia is a notoriously fussy woman; she’s left eight different hairstylists
in Baldwin County for not doing her
do
the way I do.
Or the way I
used to
. I think I’m about to be number nine.

“I
should think not,” she says, snatching up her handbag, straightening her skirt
and heading to the door in a huff. “Maybe if you spent a little less time
staring at your sex toy out there and a little more time doing your job, this
would never have happened.”

“Virginia—”

She
holds up her hand to silence me. “You should know, I plan on telling everyone
in town about this, so you can say goodbye to your clientele.”

As
if my humiliation couldn’t get any worse, Jake is standing on the front porch
and the second Virginia strides through the door and down the steps, he enters
the room. He caught the whole hissy fit. “You okay?”

“Yeah,”
I say, though I’m close to tears. I turn away to grab the broom and let out a
shaky breath.

“I
thought it was a great cut. She looked ten years younger.”

I
smile half-heartedly and begin sweeping up the mess. “It is a great cut. But it
wasn’t what she asked for. I was distracted.”

He
wipes the sweat from off his brow with the back of his hand. His shirt clings
to him like a second skin, and I get a little lost tracing the planes of his
muscled chest. Irritated, I say, “There something you need? I’ve gotta rinse
Miss Maggie’s perm.”

He
frowns and glances down at the floor. “I won’t be too much longer; I’m gonna
put her back together. I just came to see if you had any oil laying around. The
dipstick’s not as wet as I’d like it to be.”

“Er
. . . maybe in the garden shed out back?” I head over to the basin, eager to
check on Maggie’s hair. It’s bad enough that I ruined one client’s cut today; I
don’t need another’s fallin’ out thanks to my preoccupation with Jake Tucker’s
ass in those jeans.

He
nods. “Alright, well, I’ll be outta your hair real soon.”

I
let out a sigh as I gently unroll a rod. Maggie’s striking silver locks form
the perfect S-shape so I make sure she’s comfortable and begin the rinsing. It
takes a good three minutes to wash out the solution and as Chelle’s dryer shuts
off and begins to cool down, I just know what’s coming.

“You
wanna talk about what happened there?” Miss Maggie asks.

I’m
not sure if she’s referring to the haircut or to the way I just offended Jake,
but I decide that I don’t want to discuss either. “Not particularly.”

“Has
he kissed you yet?”

“Now
what kind of question is that?” Miss Chelle pipes up. “Don’t you think that if
he’d kissed her he wouldn’t be able to take his hands from off of her? Obviously
he hasn’t kissed her; he’s being a gentleman and waiting for the right time.”

“I
don’t think Jake’s interested in me that way, and I doubt either one of us are
looking for a relationship right now.” I finish Maggie’s rinse and towel-dry
the rods to remove the excess water before applying the neutralizer. I set a
timer and wash my hands in the other basin, and then I move on to Chelle.

“Oh
sugar, he’s interested,” Miss Maggie says. “Trust me on that.”

“It’s
complicated. There’s Spencer to think about and Jake . . . well, he has his own
self to worry about.”

“Terrible
shame what happened to the boy. Tragic,” Miss Maggie says quietly, and I glance
at the man in question. When Jake Tucker first came home, it was all over the
news. He was hounded by reporters and our quiet little town was full to
bursting because of it. Tourism was up, vendors’ pockets were lined, and our
town thrived because everyone wanted a glimpse of a real-life war hero.

As
a result, Jake never went anywhere. The next big tragedy struck and the
reporters moved on to terrorize people elsewhere for their scoop. After all,
news happened every day. We all watch our television sets and send our prayers
to strangers we’ve never met, and then we go about our lives and last week’s
news is all but forgotten.

Me
though? I never forgot Jake Tucker’s story. I hadn’t grown up here, so I hadn’t
known him like everyone else, but that didn’t mean my heart didn’t bleed for
him. It didn’t mean that I hadn’t watched him every day for a year knowing that
he was just as alone as I was and unable to find a way to reach out.

“I
think all Jake really needs right now is a friend.”

 “I
think you hit your head harder than you realized in that accident,” Miss Chelle
says. I shake my head.
Good Lord. Does the whole town know
? I begin
unwinding Chelle’s rollers and comb the curls through with a wide-tooth comb,
setting them with a spray of lacquer, and pinning back her long bangs in a
modified victory roll with the same tortoiseshell combs she’s been bringing to
me since I first opened.

“Well,
you’re all done.” I pat Chelle’s shoulders and hope that the two of them are
finished grilling me about Jake. Maggie’s timer buzzes, and I rinse off the
neutralizer and bring her back to the chair to dry it off and style.

“I
just want to say one thing.” Miss Maggie stares at me in the mirror as I stand
in front of her and shape the curls by her face. “I know you have your little
boy to look after and I know it hasn’t always been easy for you, Miss Ellie,
but it’s been so long since you viewed yourself as a sexual being that you’re
not seeing things clearly. That man out there wants inside your panties, but I
think he wants more than that too.” She pokes a bony finger at my chest. “I
think he wants inside here too.”

 I
balk a little at having an eighty-two-year-old woman talkin’ about my panties
and who wants inside of them. What’s more, the second part of that speech is
just as terrifying. In many ways, she’s not wrong. I’ve been without so long
that I’ve forgotten what desire looks like when it’s reflected back at you from
a man’s eyes. I’ve seen a glimpse of something akin to that in Jake’s gaze from
time to time, but it’s shut down before it has time to evolve into anything
more. I may want him, I’ll give her that, but there are so many variables, there
are so many ways it could end badly for all of us. That’s not a chance I’m
willing to take. Not when it comes to my son’s heart being broken in the
process if this all doesn’t work out.

“It
don’t matter, Miss Maggie—”

“You
think on it,” she says, handing over her credit card for payment. “In time
you’ll know what’s right.”

“Don’t
think too long though,” Miss Chelle says, as she stands and collects her Zimmer
frame. She waves her purse at Miss Maggie, the more mobile of the two, and Maggie
takes it from her in order to pay me. It’s a ritual that takes place every
Thursday and right after they leave me they have lunch down on the pier. “I may
ask him to check beneath my hood when he’s done.”

“Chelle,
honey, I’m sayin’ this because I’m your best friend, and I don’t want you to
embarrass yourself in front of that nice young man, but there ain’t nothing but
wrinkles left beneath your hood to be checked on.”

“Cab’s
here,” I say cheerily, as Brian Bowdoin’s taxi pulls up to the curb. I help
them out the door, one leaning heavily on her frame and the other a glossy
wooden walking stick.

Jake
still tinkers under the hood and they both stop and watch his behind for a
beat, feigning exhaustion. He straightens and gives them a nod as they shuffle farther
down the drive.

“You
kids be good now,” Miss Maggie says, turning to grin at me. I give her a stern
look.

Miss
Chelle, who was slowly moving on ahead of her, stops in her tracks and shouts, “Don’t
listen to her—be bad. Be very, very bad.”

I
shake my head, turning crimson from the tips of my toes to the roots of my
hair. When I glance over at Jake, he’s watching me, his brows knit together in
confusion.

Do
I have to draw this damn man I diagram?

Turning
my attention back to the street, I notice Mr. Williams on his stoop, watching
my place like a hawk. He normally makes himself scarce when Chelle and Maggie
come in. I heard somewhere that he and Miss Chelle had a thing a long time ago,
before he met his wife, and with the way she loves to provoke him, I’m almost
one hundred percent certain it’s true. I give him a wave, but he doesn’t
respond. When Chelle spots him, she blows him a kiss. Mr. Williams gets up from
the step and disappears inside.

“Get
in the car, you old biddy,” Maggie says, nudging her friend along with her
walking stick.

I
give them a wave as they climb in and the vehicle drives off, and then I turn
my attention to Jake. He unhooks the metal rod and closes the hood. “I’m all
done here. Should be good as new.”

“You
are?” I ask, trying to hide the disappointment on my face.
And just when I got
a chance to put my feet up and really enjoy the show
. “Oh my God, where are
my manners? Let me get you something to drink. It’s hot out here.”

“Thank
you, ma’am, that’s much appreciated.” He leans down and pats Nuke’s head. The
dog has sought out the shade of my front porch. He’s panting hard, his big pink
tongue lolling out to the side. I make a mental note to grab a container and
put some ice in it so he can have a cool drink too.

I
spin on my heel, preparing to do just that, but before I reach the door I turn
and say, “Jake.”

“Mmm?”
He bunches his shirt in his fist and fans himself, attempting to pull it away
from his sweat-soaked body.

“Stop
calling me ma’am.”

He
grins, and I disappear inside before I start removing his shirt for him.

“You
have somewhere I can wash up?”

“Of
course,” I say with a little arm flourish toward the hall.
God. I am such an
idiot.
“Third door on the right.”