Unbelievable (12 page)

“Thank you. Do I finally look legal?” I twirled slowly.

“I was thinking you look about nineteen, but I’ll take legal.” He walked over to the table and set the subs down. “You’re still not going to tell me your age, are you?”

“Opie, Opie,” I laughed. He offered a crooked smile. “I’m doing this for you. You need to let go of your inhibitions. Grab life by the horns. Take chances. If you see something you want, go for it.” I wagged my brows at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you done with the idioms?”

Chicken
. “That reminds me, I stopped at the library on the way home and borrowed season one of
The Andy Griffith Show
.”

“Good. I’d like to see more of this Opie character,” he said, setting the sandwiches on plates I’d handed to him. “It’s pretty sticky outside, and it looks like the smoke has cleared out. Should we eat inside?”

“Sure.” Besides, the humidity would kill my hair. Cole passed a plate to me. The bread was peppered with seeds and . . . stuff.

“What’s all this?” I pointed to the crust.

“It’s an
everything
roll. It has poppy seeds, sesame seeds. . .  I think. Well, I’m not sure what’s on it, but it does have chunks of salt. It’s delicious.” He picked up his sandwich and took a large bite. I frowned down at mine. “Now who’s afraid to take chances?” he teased.

“Point taken.” I nodded, picking up the sub. I took a deep breath and bit into the sandwich. To my surprise it was indeed delicious, especially the salt chunks.

“I stand corrected. It’s very good,” I said, taking another bite. Cole nodded smugly. We took our sandwiches to the couch. He pulled the ottoman over and we used it as a table. I inserted the DVD in the player and sat back to watch Cole’s reaction. He said little during the first episode, though he did smile often. Daddy called more four times. Sick of it vibrating, I turned the phone off.

“Lilah, if you need to take a call, please go ahead,” Cole said as I powered down my phone.

“Nope. Not tonight. It’s just you, me, and Opie.” I sat back down and snuggled in next to him. He didn’t say a word, though he did tense up just a little.

Listening to the southern drawls and seeing the old familiar faces again brought back memories of a happier time. I could almost hear my mother struggling to repeat a word in English with a half-Spanish, half-southern drawl accent. I caught myself smiling several times at a memory. It felt good to escape and not think about my father and his plans.

After the DVD ended, Cole turned to me. “Opie, huh?”

“Yes, don’t you see it? Sweet, obedient, and cute as heck,” I pointed out. “It’s a compliment, Cole. He’s a good guy. He’s not a manipulating, scheming brat. He’s a good kid.”

“He’s a bit on the boring side, don’t you think?” Cole looked at me, slightly offended.

“No
t at all. Would you rather be the bad guy?” I stood and took the plates into the kitchen. “Cole, bad guys are only attractive in movies and books,” I said, coming back in the room. “In real life they’re liars and cheats. Trust me, I know.” I lived in a house full of them.

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, just not the boring guy, is all. His dad, Andy, wasn’t boring,” Cole pointed out.

He looked at me with his deep baby blues and I melted onto his lap. His arms stiffened and he tried to pull back as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “I thought you said you didn’t want to be boring?” He nodded, but said nothing. “Well, a boring guy would stop me if I tried to kiss him.” I didn’t wait for him to do just that. I pressed my mouth to his, softly. A pure, chaste, very Opie-esque kiss. Andy would be proud. I pulled back and smiled. “See, that didn’t hurt.”

“I’d better get going,” he said abruptly. He stood, sliding me onto the couch as he did. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He headed out the door before I could stand.

“But I wanted to show you my art work,” I called after him. Too late, he was gone.

Chapter
10

Thursday after we finished painting the walls and trim, we spent the evening picking out furniture. I drove, getting a kick out of Cole folding and unfolding his long legs when climbing in and out of my compact car. “Next time we take my car,” he complained after our fourth stop.

Part of me grew anxious to see the finished project, but the larger part of me didn’t want it to end. I’d enjoyed being around Cole a little more than I
’d anticipated, so much I hadn’t pressed him at all about having Booker help me do some investing. Thankfully, Daddy left for Switzerland the daily harassing phone calls stopped, for now.

Saturday I drove over to Maggie’s to help with her hair and to have lunch. She took me straight upstairs with strict orders we were not to be interrupted.

“I want Seth to be surprised when I walk down the aisle,” she explained, locking the bathroom door behind us.

The bathroom was beautiful with its white subway tiles and gray grout. In the center sat a huge tub. Three people could easily fit inside. Maggie sat on a soft padded seat in a vanity area.

“Great tub,” I said, pulling a brush through her limp hair.

“I know, right? I love to sit and read,” she said to my reflection in the mirror. “Seth likes it too.
He takes more baths than I do,” Maggie said. “Thanks for doing this, though I admit I am a little nervous.”

“I won’t do anything permanent unless I have your permission, don’t worry,” I said, examining the ends of her sad hair. “I didn’t see Cole downstairs when I came in.”

“He had a few errands to run before lunch.”

“Give me the scoop. Does he have
any
bad traits?” I pressed.

She shrugged playfully. “Don’t we all?”

“Yes, some more than others.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the hair care products I’d brought along. Maggie picked up the can of volumizer. I hoped to make it her new best friend because certainly she needed it.

“I don’t believe Cole has any faults. It’s discouraging,” I said, brushing through her hair a few more times.

“So it sounds like you’re falling for Cole.”

I shook my head at her reflection. “He’s a great guy and all, but I can’t compete with perfect.”

“I remember when I first met Seth. I thought the same thing. There was no doubt in my mind that the guy could walk on water. Very intimidating, especially knowing all of my own flaws so well.”

“And now?”

She sighed. “He can still walk on water, but now and then his feet get a little wet.” We both giggled like high school girls at a pajama party.

Maggie pointed to all the cans I’d set out. “I need all of that to be presentable?” Disheartened, her eyes scanned the products for a second time. I wanted to say yes, but afraid I’d offend her, I lied.

“No. I brought extra. I wasn’t sure what we’d need.” She looked at me and rolled her eyes. The girl was smarter than I gave her credit for.

“Okay, so if you won’t dish on Cole,” I said, “tell me, does he always wear blue scrubs?”

“Yes. Always. I’ve known him for three years and I’ve never seen him in anything but scrubs.” My mouth dropped open, and she chuckled again. When I asked why, she only shrugged.

I picked up my haircutting scissors and lifted a section of hair. “Would you be against me cutting some of it off? The ends are in really bad shape. It will be hard to make it look good otherwise.”

Maggie frowned, I knew she would. “How much, exactly?”

“Three or four inches.” She cringed at my answer. “Here.” I pulled her to her feet and stood her
so she faced the etched mirror hanging over the double bowled sink. “Your hair reaches here.” I turned her sideways, gliding my hand down a strand of her hair and stopping at the bottom, about an inch above her waist. “I think we should cut it off to here.” I slid my hand level with the bottom of her bra in the back.

“That’s more like six inches,” she correctly pointed out.

I pulled a section around near her face. “See how damaged this is?” I showed her the countless split ends. “This really needs to go.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. I’d seen the same reaction at beauty school. Girls would come in and want us to work miracles on their hair, but they refused to let us cut it. “You’re right. Go ahead. I only hope Seth likes it.”

“Seth? You should be the one to like it. If he does also, that’s only a bonus,” I pointed out.

“Good point. Let’s do it. I hate my hair, always have
.” She stopped and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You know what you’re doing, right? I mean, I’m not going to look like a freak, am I? No whacky, uneven layers, not that I have anything against that, it’s just not me.”

“Trust me
.” The irony of my comment wasn’t lost on me.

I washed and conditioned her hair with the only shampoo in the house: Seth’s. When I asked why she used his shampoo
, she said, “Because the smell reminds me of him.”
Oh yeah, she has it bad for the guy
. I tried not to laugh.

“Maggie, you need a moisturizing shampoo and a good conditioner.”

I cut off about six inches. It hit right between her shoulder blades. I texturized the top to help add volume to the flat mess.

“You do know that nutrition plays a large part in healthy hair, right? The top part of your hair’s in really good condition, it just needs a little product to give it a boost. You have fine hair
, and fine hair needs help most times. The six inches I cut off were a damaged, dry mess. I’d guess you were a major junk food junky back in high school.”

“Oh,” Maggie said, sudd
enly very quiet.

“I mean, most teenagers have the same problem. Part of being young, right?” I forced a laugh.

“We didn’t have a lot of money while I was growing up. I guess that’s probably why it’s in such bad shape,” she said quietly. “Food was scarce. My mother had a drinking problem, and she spent a lot on alcohol.” Maggie swallowed hard several times as she explained. I could tell she still struggled with the memories, and I felt stupid for bringing it up.

Hearing
all this begged the question:
Why in the world would this tender-hearted girl marry a killer?
It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. Killing someone’s one thing, but Daddy said my brothers were executed. Bill and Alan’s hands and feet were bound and they’d been shot in the back of the head. So far nothing Daddy’d told me rang true.

“Guess I’m a real party kill,” Maggie laughed weakly. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need your pity. I tend to bottle things up and I’ve been trying not to do that so much since
. . . since my mother died. Some days I do well, some days, not so much.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried,” I said, texturing her hair a little more.

“You didn’t.” She picked up a strand of cut hair from her sleeve and waved it playfully at me. “So, am I going to have to wear a wig to my wedding? You finished the hair cutting part of school right?”

“Define finished,” I said, straight faced.

“Oh my gosh. I’m going to look like a punk rocker.” She planted her face in her palms.

“If you don’t hold still, yes, you will.” I turned on the blow dryer, shouting instructions to her on the proper technique to infuse life into limp hair
, and adding some lifting foam.

When we
finished, even I was amazed. Maybe I should’ve stayed in beauty school. A knock came at the bathroom door before I could show Maggie.

“Don’t come in,” she demanded.

“I won’t, but lunch is ready,” Seth informed us through the door.

“We’ll be right down,” she said, turning to me. “Do you still have time to try some updo’s after lunch?”

“Sounds like a plan. Do you want to see it so far? It’s just your everyday look, but it’s pretty good.” Didn’t mean to toot my own horn, but dang! What a difference.

“Sure,” she said, hesitantly. She turned and faced the mirror. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes
flared.

“It looks awesome!” She echoed my thoughts. She jiggled her head a little and watched it bounce. “My hair has never bounced, ever. This looks wonderful.” Then she hugged me. A great big hug. It shocked me, catching me
completely off guard.