“I could make your hair look like this. You have the face for it, and the white would be so pretty with your eyes.”
I glance up at myself, squinting to see what she sees. My eyes are a grayish color, similar to my hair. When I was young, boys considered them exotic. I didn’t even know what that meant until Howard.
“The way you look at me,” he’d said. I shiver with the memory. Then I think of Jedd.
Jedd. Jedd. Jedd.
How do my eyes appear to him? What do they say when I look into his?
“Take it off,” I whisper, and the technician leans forward.
“Pardon me?”
“I mean, cut it as you wish. Color it too. I don’t care what it looks like.” But it’s a lie. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want a drastic change to myself, beginning with my hair.
“I promise, you’re going to look even prettier than you already are, Miss Beverly.” I turn to glance back at the girl, narrowing my eyes in disbelief at her kind compliment. Her body crosses in front of mine as she sets her phone on the stand with scissors, combs, and a hair dryer. As she steps back, Mabel Murphy catches my eye.
“Beautiful, like you’re meant to be, Beverly,” she says, holding my gaze for a second. I want to tell her she’s full of malarkey, but I hold my tongue and face the mirror, taking a deep breath. When the hair tech chops off the initial chunk, I already feel a little freer, the beginnings of the old me returning.
Chapter Twelve
[Beverly]
“I love taking something old and giving it a new purpose,” Virginia Hanes mentions in this rerun of Nailed where she hunts antique shops for just the right item to complete her decorative genius. Tripper follows her with a fake chicken attached to a headpiece on his head.
My fingers brush through my hair once again. I haven’t been able to stop touching the new style. Mabel was correct; the girl at The Beauty Mark is a miracle worker. My hair feels lighter, whiter, and I’m proud of how it turned out: with a subtle wave and easy upkeep. Not to mention, no more tight buns at the nape of my neck. The loose waves frame my face, softening the sharp edges. The color is more bright white than frosted like my sister Naomi’s, but our hair hints at sisterhood, despite a difference in length.
“What about these, GinGin?” Tripper asks his wife, holding up an unidentifiable item that looks strangely sexual. Virginia rolls her eyes and shakes her head at her husband, who turns his backside to the cameraman and smacks his own tush with the heart-shaped paddle. I flinch in response and then giggle. It couldn’t have hurt him, but I’m imagining all sorts of inappropriate things with the old utensil and some bare skin. I blush and sweep my fingers up my neck and into my hair again.
Thinking of bare skin, I haven’t seen Jedd since he dropped my backside in a tub of rainwater. I’ve been vigilant about watching out for him, but he hasn’t returned to the main house for supper. This also means he hasn’t offered an apology for throwing me in the tub. Perhaps the single flower was his plea for forgiveness, and it was rather sweet. I’ve had time to reflect on what I said to my daughter and what I implied to this stranger living in my barn. It isn’t as if I haven’t had years to think on my attitude or actions, but something about these past few days has made me continually reflective.
What do I want out of life? I’m only forty-five, and while I feel ancient, this isn’t the end for me. What happened to the girl with dreams? I can answer that with one word: Howard. Without giving him undue credit, living with Howard did open a door for me, one I did not expect. Motherhood was the greatest gift. Raising my child has been a pleasure, but she’s grown and should be on her own, so what’s next? I’ve given up a decade of my life, decaying under emotions about a worthless man and the state of my health.
“I ain’t dead yet,” Ewell used to say. “You can have it all when I go, but not before.”
I’m not dead yet either, despite how I feel inside. Then I think of Jedd. Something about that man lights a fire in me, sparks my curiosity, and has turned me into a regular stalker watching for him out my window. It’s a new form of unhealthy behavior, yet I can’t seem to pull myself away. I’ve watched him take the few short steps to the barn from his truck. I’ve observed the use of his prosthetic arm and the unparalleled strength of his opposite bicep. I’ve sought out his silhouette in the shadows of the night, and I’ve smiled to myself when he’s caught me and waved. Only he hasn’t waved in days, because I haven’t seen a glimpse of him.
I glance back at my television set as the final refurbished rooms are presented to the homeowners of Nailed. Suddenly, a caravan of vehicles comes down my drive, passing the house for the first pasture. I’m quick to rise from my rocking chair to check out the ruckus—well, as quick as I can be—and reach for my arm braces to help me out to the yard.
It’s early morning, and Hannah is still sleeping from her late-night shift at the Pink Pony. We haven’t encountered each other much over the past few days, and when we do, we keep quietly to ourselves. I’d like to think all is forgiven, but I know some wounds cut deep, and while the lashes were only words spoken from my mouth, my sensitive girl took them to heart. I’d have done the same thing. Howard was full of ridicule and disrespect, and I learned early on to keep my head down unless he lifted my chin for my attention. His father was equally an irritant, but a little less demeaning. Grouchy Ewell at least tried to increase my knowledge of farm living and offered me a plot for the pleasure of gardening.
Memories of Ewell filter through my head as I struggle down the back steps. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk, I hear until I reach gravel. It’s even slower going over the pebbly dirt surface, and I concentrate on where I place my crutches as I hear the opening and closing of vehicle doors and the rise of voices calling out to one another.
“Bee?” I stop in my tracks, raising my head to find Jedd a few paces ahead of me. His metallic hand holds a baseball cap while his fingers scrape over his short hair. I hate to admit he’s a vision. That rugged skin. Those deep-set eyes. The questioning grin.
A silver fox, Hazel called him.
“Do you still hate me?” he asks, his voice hesitant as his eyes shift to my feet and then back to my face. I should hate him. I should still be angry, but strangely, I’m so relieved to see him standing before me that I forget why I’m mad.
“You are kind of an ass,” I snark, but the bite in my tone is lacking.
“You like my ass, though, honey, don’t you?” he teases back. Thankfully, he has no idea how much I’ve checked him out. I don’t even complain that he calls me honey, strangely liking the way he uses the endearment on me. He steps closer, and our eyes dance. His hand lifts, pauses and then withdraws, and I swallow a lump of confusion. Was he planning to touch me? Brush back my fresh hair, perhaps.
“What’s all this racket?” I snap, the familiar edge tasting sour on my tongue as I dismiss his rejection. I inhale, holding myself still as I balance on the crutches.
“It’s a barn raising.” Jedd’s eyes sparkle like pinpricks of starlight in a midnight sky, excitement ringing in his voice. He twists the baseball cap in his hand and then returns it to his head. A smile grows on his face, softening the hard lines. It’s almost infectious, but I steady my resolve, holding on to my anger with him.