“All done. You ready to see Harvey James, church employee edition?”
A herd of jumping beans sprang loose in his stomach. He lifted the hand mirror Pearl had plopped in his lap and paused at half-mast.
She faced him with an expectant spark in her eyes. “Go on. Look already. A reflection can’t bite.” She clasped her hands and tucked them under her chin.
He grinned. Despite her mile-high hair and creased skin, she reminded him of a child on Christmas morning. He lifted the mirror. This man smiled back at him. The smile dropped. Harvey ran his hand across the close-cropped sides, and then down his jawline that had a square shape he hadn’t noticed before. He turned his head to the left and the right. Pearl had swept the longer part on top slightly to the side with gel to hold it in place.
“How much do you hate it?”
Harvey blinked and placed the mirror back in his lap, remembering the woman in front of him. “It’s . . . I . . . don’t hate it. Thank you.”
She walked behind him and dusted the back of his neck with a barber brush.
“I . . . uh. I look like somebody.”
“Like who?”
“No. I mean I look like somebody who belongs with . . . you know . . . regular people.”
“You’ve always been somebody, but if this little ol’ haircut was a part of you recognizing who you’ve always been, I’m glad to have helped. It does suit you.”
Harvey managed a tight smile. “Pastor Thomas said it would be good if I wore something other than my usual. I have a gray T-shirt and a newer pair of hunting pants. Do you think it’d be okay? My only collared shirts have palm trees.”
She unsnapped the cape from around his neck. Loose hair fluttered to the floor. “The T-shirt’s okay. It’d be better tucked in with a nice pair of jeans or slacks.”
There was no way he was wasting money on new clothes for himself to impress a bunch of church people who were probably going to turn him away. Saving up to get out of Triune was top priority. Pearl wouldn’t let this game of playing house with Ivy go on forever.
She’d tried to get him talking so many times. Have you heard from your sister? Don’t you think it’s time you made a report? Are you going to try to get custody of Ivy? There’s a lawyer I know . . .
He and Ivy had to get out of town. Soon.
“I know it would be better.” He looked at his hands. “I just don’t have a whole lot of options.” Heat pulsed in the tips of his ears. He’d never been ashamed of his clothes. Liked them—no. Their level of appropriateness had never mattered, but now they left him feeling naked.
Pearl bustled about, sweeping hair into a pile. “I might have a few things. I don’t know if they are your style. But I think they’d be good for your interview.”
He smirked. “You have a spare kimono?”
She burst into laughter. “Harvey, I do declare you have a sense of humor under that stoic manner of yours. Although my old kimono would make a statement.” She sobered. “I wasn’t offering my clothes. They were my son’s. He . . . he passed almost a year ago. He didn’t wear them or anything. Some people are funny about things like that. They were supposed to be part of his Christmas. That he . . . uh . . . that he never had the chance to open.”
There were still tears on her face, but he suspected the present ones were born of something heavier than laughter.
A chill sank in his stomach. He’d hurt her. He should leave jokes to comedians. “I’m sorry about your son.”
“War is a terrible thing.”
He nodded.
She swiped at her cheeks. “You hang tight. He was built a lot like you so I think it all should fit. I don’t know where in the world he got his height. My husband, Elliot, was a shade over five foot eight. And Marshall turned out a lanky six foot two.”
She shuffled away.
Inhaling the scent of the soup reheating on the stove, he peered out the kitchen window overlooking the churchyard—the one he’d caught Pearl spying on him out of time and time again. What had once seemed threatening had taken on an endearing quality. Maybe she hadn’t been making sure he wasn’t burning the church to the ground. Could it be she was instead concerned about . . . him?
He turned away and shook his head to clear the silly thought. Thought, or longing. Harvey swallowed. He needed air. The walls closed in—the cozy kitchen oppressive.
Pearl poked her head around the kitchen entryway. “Sit down on the stool and close your eyes.”
Harvey jerked at her intrusion on his anxiety meltdown. “What?”
“Oops. Sorry to startle you. Now don’t ‘what’ me. Do as you’re told. Sit down, close your eyes, and pretend you like your gift.”
“Why would I pretend—”
“Because that’s what polite young men do when old ladies buy them ugly clothes for Christmas.”
“It’s October.”
“For heaven’s sakes, let me have my moment. Ivy is about to wake up, as you well know. And December’s a hard month for me now anyways. I’d rather celebrate in October this year.”
Harvey sat on the stool and closed his eyes, his knee bouncing. She shouldn’t be making such a fuss over him—she wouldn’t if she knew the truth. All the lies he’d told. He took a breath and forced himself to still. The least he could do was play along, be grateful even if he didn’t deserve it.
A plastic shopping bag crinkled as it was plopped in his lap. “Open your eyes.” She smiled, but there was something ragged in her expression.
He pulled out two pairs of blue jeans. One dark, the other medium blue. Next was a dark green collared shirt of thin material like Pastor Thomas wore. He sucked air between his lips. The last shirt in the bag was brushed flannel in navy-and-green plaid. The empty bag fell to the floor. Harvey stared at the clothes he’d piled on the table. All brand new with the tags still on.
“I know they probably aren’t your style. But I thought . . . for the interview—”
In a flash, he was eight years old all over again, discarded in a children’s home after three consecutive sets of foster parents found him “difficult.” A blonde woman handed him a green-and-navy checked shirt, brand new with the tags still on. Her tender smile had whispered that everyone was wrong about him. That he could be loved.
Harvey had worn that shirt almost every day for two years until a house mother trashed it. Despite his tears, she’d deemed it unsuitable just because the cuffs rested halfway up his forearm, and three buttons had popped off the too-tight chest.
He pulled in oxygen and willed his voice to cooperate. “It’s what I would’ve picked out if I had the choice. Thank . . .” He let out a puff of air. “Thank you.”
He forced himself to meet her eye as his heart battered around inside his chest.
Her chin quivered when she opened her mouth.
Ivy let out a cry from the bedroom. Pearl put a hand to her cheek. “Oh, Little Miss doesn’t want to be left out of the party.”
Harvey half rose.
She patted his shoulder. “You go try on your clothes. I’ll see to her.” Pearl slipped from the room before he could argue.
He hoisted the stack and wandered down the hallway, looking for a place to change. He pulled a door to one of her spare bedrooms. He slipped on a pair of jeans and the plaid shirt. Everything seemed to fit. He turned in search of a mirror.