It’s the late morning and there’s the usual lull between the breakfast and lunch rush. I’m rolling silverware and waiting on Christine to arrive when the bell dings, and I spin around so fast I tweak my back a little.
It’s not Ben walking in, but for once I’m not disappointed by that fact.
“Oh my god, that smell,” Leanna says, stopping just inside the front door and inhaling deeply. “I want one of everything you have.”
I laugh and wave her over to the counter. She’s adorable in her summer dress and flats. She plops her Chanel bag on the counter without a lick of pretense and then grins at me.
“I’ve come to try out Dale’s for myself. The guys won’t shut up about the food here.”
“Oh yeah? What do you feel like? Breakfast or lunch?”
Her eyes light up with all the possibilities. “Hmm…breakfast for sure.” Then she tilts her head, mulling it over. “Or maybe lunch? God, that burger was so good the other day.”
I laugh and turn to talk to Cook back in the kitchen. “Can you get me a classic breakfast with buttermilk pancakes on the side and a BLT with extra bacon and French fries?”
I hear Leanna groan in ecstasy behind me. “Yes. Yes to all of that.”
I head back to her, getting her some water before I lean my elbows on the counter. “Food will be out in a minute. How’ve you been?”
She shrugs. “Bored out of my mind to be honest. You?”
I shrug. “Busy.”
“You work here every morning?”
“Most.”
“And then you clean houses after?”
I nod.
“Do you have to clean this afternoon?”
“Yeah, just a short job over at the town’s dentistry office. They close early every now and then so I can give the place a once-over.”
“Need a second pair of hands?” she asks, hopeful.
I laugh and point to her Chanel. “If you’re in need of money, you could hawk that handbag and make more than I do in a month.”
Her cheeks flush with color. “It’s not…I’m fine. Just…you have to clean, so I thought I could help. Maybe if we finish early we could do something fun after?” I must not look convinced because she goes on. “You know before I married Trey, I was a nursing assistant. Which might sound kind of nice, but really, I was a glorified ass-wiper. If you think I haven’t seen it all, cleaned it all, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not some snob.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Alright, fine. But I can’t split the money with you or anything—”
“Of course. That’s fine. I could just use the company. Now…what should we do once we finish up. Does this town have a spa?”
Mable’s place reminds me of Truvy Jones’ salon in Steel Magnolias. She operates it out of the front end of her ranch-style house, and when we first walk in, it’s a real feast for the senses. Hot rollers everywhere, messy containers of hot wax, outdated 1980s wallpaper, vinyl beauty chairs, and big hairdos.
There’s a handful of women inside at various stages of pampering. One sits underneath the heater, soaking in a worn Nora Roberts paperback. Another is getting her hair shampooed in a mint green sink by Mable’s assistant, Belle. She smacks the gum in her mouth and tells us to have a seat by the window until they can take us.
“You both in for a cut?”
She’s eyeing our hair like she’s trying to decide where to start whacking.
Leanna’s eyes are wide when she looks at me. She’s terrified of what these people will do to her lush black hair, and I can’t say I blame her. Mable and Belle know how to do one hairstyle: bouffant.
“How about just two manicures?” I tell Belle before throwing a little wink at Leanna.
We end up having to wait a while, but we don’t mind. It’s fun being in Mable’s and listening to the gossip. There’s no shortage of it.
“Another baby—you’re kidding me! Hardly takes care of the first two they got—”
“He was supposed to retire last year, but he has his eye on that widow, Mrs. Patricia, and she’s got a real nasty spending habit. She’ll drive him straight into the poorhouse if he’s not careful.”
“She wants to cancel the chili cookoff at the church and replace it with something healthier. I ’bout slapped her ’cross the face. Who does she think she is messing with traditions like that? The chili cookoff! What’s next?! No more wine with communion?”
Leanna delights in the conversation, and when Mable and Belle call us up to take a seat, they ask us what color we want on our nails then immediately disagree with both of us.
“That pink isn’t for you, dear,” Mable tells me with a shake of her head. “No. You try this red instead.” She looks at the bottom of the polish bottle. “Candy Apple’s the name. It’ll drive your man wild. You got a man?”
I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “What man would I have, Mable?”
She shrugs innocently. “Pretty young thing like you should always have a man. Want me to set you up with someone?”
Leanna laughs beside me, but it’s not long until they turn their attention on her and start digging for details.
“You’re married to one of them basketball players?” Belle asks, her eyes round with appreciation. “Had I known, I would have said something earlier. It’s like we’ve got a real celebrity in our midst.”
Leanna blushes and shakes her head. “It’s not like that. My husband might be famous in the sports world, but I’m not.”
“You could be,” Mable says. “With that face, you could do movies or somethin’.”
Leanna smiles. “Thanks.”
Then suddenly, she grimaces and jerks back as if in pain, glancing down at her belly.
“You okay?” I ask, leaning in while Belle and Mable are occupied.
“Yeah. Just some cramping. It’s never happened before.”
She looks up and our gazes catch, and I see the worry she’s keeping in.
“You expectin’, dear?” Mable asks, because of course she was eavesdropping on our conversation.
We all glance down at Leanna’s minuscule bump not quite visible underneath her dress.
“Just barely. Still in my first trimester.”
This elicits excited squeals from both women, who aren’t exactly good at reading the room, but maybe that’s okay. They start talking a mile a minute about all the things Leanna needs to do about the baby—“little whiskey on the gums really helps with teething”—which leaves Leanna in relative peace to worry about what’s going on. She nibbles on her bottom lip, mulling something over. Then her face contorts in pain again, as if she’s having more cramps.
“We should leave,” I say as a horrible feeling sinks into my gut.
What if something is happening to the baby? We can’t just sit here.
“It’s really not that bad, just weird. I’m probably reading too much into it.”
But then she jerks again and I’m up out of the salon chair.
“Leanna, let’s go. I’ll take you to see a doctor.”
“No, no. There’s no sense in worrying over nothing.”