Can't Hurry Love

by Melinda Curtis

  “I’m not upset.” Lola caught her reflection in the mirror. Sure enough, she’d swept her hair up and twisted it for height above her forehead, letting the rest of her hair fall to her shoulders.

  “If you say so.” Harriet wheeled her way closer to the chair. “I’m sure I won’t like the way you do my hair today—”

  Harriet didn’t like anything Lola did. It was a wonder she came back every week.

  “—but you can do your best.”

  Since this complaint was as regular as Harriet’s attendance, Lola replied with a mild dig of her own. “The shuttle can take you over to Prestige Salon.”

  Harriet harrumphed. “There’s no privacy there.” Meaning she didn’t get the VIP treatment, like she did with Lola.

  Lola snapped a pink polka-dot drape over Harriet and then helped her into the chair at the shampoo bowl. The old woman’s shoulders were permanently slumped, hindering her ability to recline. Lola set the walker in the hall and then closed the lower half of the Dutch door. “We could try something really different. We could dye your hair silver, cut it short everywhere but on top, and spike it up. Spiky hair is in.” And fit Harriet’s prickly attitude.

  “No big-city fluff for me. I live in Sunshine.” Harriet lifted a bony hand to touch her frizzy mop. “I hope you can master the art of the pin curl today.”

  “You can talk me through it.” Lola had mastered the art of the pin curl. And the perm. And the comb-out. That was practically all she’d done for two years.

  “I heard you joined the Widows Club auction.” Harriet chuckled. “They finally got you in their clutches.”

  It was Lola’s turn to harrumph.

  “I also heard the sheriff bought you.” Harriet was merciless in her pursuit of information. “However did you manage that? The sheriff doesn’t play Widows Club games.”

  “Harriet…” Lola knew she shouldn’t let the woman get to her, but she couldn’t keep the barb from her tone. “I clean up nice, you know.”

  Harriet cackled. “The sheriff was probably worried you’d start a fire at Shaw’s.”

  Though Lola had to admit that might have been the case, it didn’t take the sting out of Harriet’s ribbing. Lola worked shampoo into Harriet’s thin, kinked hair with more than her usual vigor. “I bet you started some fires in your day.”

  Most people didn’t see the faded red rose tattoo on Harriet’s shoulder. The petals peeked out from beneath her wide white bra strap, stretching toward her shoulder blade.

  “I rode a Harley,” Harriet said proudly. “I’ve been to Sturgis. Wish I could go for one last ride.”

  That was highly unlikely given how shaky Harriet was with her walker.

  “Is that where you met your husband? Sturgis?”

  The old woman chuckled. “I met my husband at a Widows Club fund-raiser. That club has been around for more than fifty years. You get better odds of landing a man than online dating. Or so I’ve been told. Do you have your eye on the sheriff?”

  “Only because he’s a shifty character.” Lola toweled the excess moisture from Harriet’s sparse hair. It really would look better spiked. Someday, when Harriet really annoyed her, Lola was going to do it anyway.

  “Shifty? Not Sheriff Taylor. Now, my husband…he was a devious devil.” Harriet continued to reminisce with stars in her faded blue eyes. “A ladies’ man. But I made sure every woman in town knew if they messed with him, they’d have to mess with me.”

  Lola bit into her cheek to keep from smiling. Harriet was a ninety-pound weakling. “Ow.” That weakling had just pinched the underside of Lola’s arm. “What was that for?”

  “To show you I’ve still got it.” Harriet’s smile revealed silver-capped yellow teeth. “If you’d have given women in town a run for their money, like me, maybe your man wouldn’t have strayed.”

  “How did you…” Lola could barely manage a whisper. “Do you know who Randy slept with?”

  “No, but I recognized that look in his eyes, even as a boy.” Harriet tsk-tsked. “He had a thing for damsels in distress.”

  “Where were you on my wedding day?” She could’ve used that bit of insight.

  “I was here,” Harriet said dejectedly. “Been here way too long. And I can tell you, I won’t be here much longer.”

  “Promises, promises.” Lola pulled her arm out of pinching distance. “And that’ll cost you a nickel.” She had a whining jar on a shelf in the corner. Last year, she’d donated a whopping five dollars to the home’s Christmas fund.

  “I brought a dime. Means I’ve got one more complaint in me.”

  She’d likely have more than one complaint, but Lola chose to change the subject, bringing Harriet to a sitting position. “I found some of the other woman’s jewelry.” She produced the ruby earring from her vest-jacket pocket and showed it to Harriet. “Have you ever seen it before?”

  Harriet plucked the earring from Lola’s hand and held it an inch from her face. “Ooh. Antique and real.”

  “How do you—”

  “Hello.” Bitsy appeared in the Dutch doorway, looking eighties chic in a pink tunic with shoulder pads. Two black plastic clips held her blond hair away from her face.

  Before Lola could snatch her evidence back, Harriet clutched the earring in her fist.

  Bitsy didn’t seem to notice. “Lola, I wanted to give you more details about the bake sale tomorrow.”

  “Could you tell I’ve been having second thoughts?” Lola had been dreading the bake sale since the moment she’d agreed to participate. She helped Harriet from the shampoo bowl to the main chair. “I can make cupcakes from a box. It won’t be anything special.”

  “Is it time for the bake sale?” Harriet gasped. “Someone promise me you’ll bring me a slice of Wendy’s Bundt cake.”

  Lola resisted pinching her disloyal customer on the arm while Bitsy promised to bring her a slice Wednesday morning.

  “I’ll loan you a cupcake recipe of mine.” Bitsy was nothing if not persistent. “If you can mix hair color, you can bake from scratch.”

  “Scratch?” Lola shook her head. “I know my limits.”

  “The bake sale isn’t for Betty Crocker,” Harriet snapped. “It’s why it’s so popular.” She drew herself up. “I used to make praline brownies. Let’s see Betty make those from a box.”

  “Uh…” Lola had never been competent in the kitchen.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Bitsy said in a voice that somehow settled Lola’s nerves. “I’ll bring everything you need to the viewing this afternoon. You’ll have plenty of time to pull it off.”

  When Bitsy left, Harriet brought the earring from beneath her drape. “Never was one to wear baubles like this. Can’t say I’ve seen it before.” She handed it back to Lola. “You’d do better asking at the thrift store or one of those pawn shops in Greeley.”

  “I need to go to the thrift store anyway.” After agreeing to pick up Randy’s stuff from her driveway, they’d called Monday morning and canceled because his things were “unsuitable.”

  There was nothing wrong with Randy’s things. No doubt Mrs. Everly was blackballing her. In retaliation, Lola had changed her window display. But a change of doll position wasn’t enough. This was war.

  “Do you still have that blond wig, Harriet?”

  Harriet had defeated cancer the first year Lola was in Sunshine.

  “I do.”

  “I’d like to borrow it.” Lola thought it’d look better on Candy than her painted-on plastic curls did.

  * * *

  “Remind me again what we’re here for,” Drew said to Becky, having picked her up from school for some father-daughter time.

  Later she was having an early dinner with his mother while he went to Scotty’s viewing.

  It’d been another long day filled with spring-thaw madness. There’d been a fender bender in the elementary school drop-off line, ten minutes before the bell, that had made thirty kids in five grades tardy. Joy Kendall’s Labrador had escaped, which would h
ave been nothing new, except she was in heat and other dogs had literally chewed through fences and gates to get to her. (Flo had called Eileen to help.) Then one of the town’s two stoplights had gone on the fritz. It wasn’t scheduled to be fixed until later tonight. That light happened to be in front of the mortuary, which meant Drew would be on traffic duty as people began to leave.

  “Da-addy.” Using the superior tone of a sixteen-year-old, six-year-old Becky walked slowly down the aisle of Sunshine’s thrift store. Thankfully, Becky still dressed like a little girl. She wore pink striped leggings and a neon-green shirt with a frilly hem. “I’m Etna in the school play. I tried out at lunchtime. Ms. Adams said I could have a sword.”

  The thrift store offered an eclectic mix of castoffs for sale but Drew was convinced they weren’t likely to find a sword in Sunshine, much less at the thrift store, which smelled as dank as the farmhouse basement. “Isn’t this something Granny Susie could help you order online?”

  “Granny Susie always says we should look here first.” Becky stopped and peered at a colorful display of rabbit-feet and then moved past a weight rack toward a display of gardening tools.

  “I’m not going to argue about you not picking up my stuff.” Lola’s voice carried over aisles from the direction of the jewelry counter. Her tone drifted between diplomacy and disrespect. “If you don’t want my garage sale treasures for free, it’s your loss.” There was a sound like a heel pounding on linoleum. “Can you just tell me if you have a pearl ring?”

  There goes diplomacy.

  “Nada,” Ricky Parker, the store manager, wheezed. Ricky had emphysema from chain-smoking when he was younger and always seemed to be gasping for breath. It made him a man of few words.

  Although he couldn’t see Lola, Drew’s pulse kicked up a notch. She hadn’t taken down her plastic display nor was she giving up on the jewelry scavenger hunt.

  At the next junction of aisles, Drew left Becky to wander, and cut toward the jewelry section.

  Ricky sat on a stool. His bulk overflowed onto the counter.

  Lola stood opposite him, dressed in black tights, black pumps, and a curve-clinging zebra-striped short dress. Half her brown hair was twisted and clipped high on top of her head. The rest fell in large loops over one shoulder. Her eyes were lined for business—the investigative business. And her lips? They were red and would have been attractive if they hadn’t been moving.

  “I don’t suppose you recognize any of these.” Lola laid out the pieces they’d found in the apartment—the turquoise pendant, silver bracelet with copper bells, and ruby earring. “The turquoise has a silver backing and is engraved. See?” She turned it over. “Dream Big.”

  “Pass.” Ricky slid the necklace toward Lola and sucked in air. “I’ve got ten like it in back.”

  “But this one’s engraved.”

  “They all were. Generically.” He picked up the ruby earring and squinted at it from behind small reading glasses. “These are real.” He slurped in air. “I’ll give you two hundred for the pair.”

  “I don’t have the set.” A thin layer of patience coated Lola’s words. “I have nothing for sale. I just want to know if you’ve ever seen these before. What about the bracelet?”

  “Don’t answer that question, Ricky.” Drew leaned on the counter near Lola, near enough to smell her flowery scent. A smarter man would’ve backed away and dragged his gaze from those lips.

  Unlike Wendy, Lola wasn’t shy. She had a direct gaze and always got right to the point. “This is none of your business, Sheriff.”

  Ricky held up his hands. “Never seen it.”

  “You wouldn’t lie just because he’s here, would you?” Lola angled her thumb at Drew.

  The store manager shook his head. “It wouldn’t be good for business.”

  “Neither is rejecting donated goods.” Slender brows pulled low, Lola picked up the bracelet, jingling the small copper bells.

  Lola rearranged the jewelry on the counter and then stared at the pieces, as if contemplating different chess moves.

  Drew knew the move she should be contemplating. “Have you thought about closing those drapes?” Ramona Everly was annoying Flo with the frequency of her complaints.

  “Nope. I like the light.” And she liked creating provocative window displays. Today’s version had Randy’s head buried in his love interest’s neck mid-hickey.

  “Daddy-O!” Becky ran around the corner, waving a plastic sword. It jangled with every slice through the air. Clang-clang-clang! It was just the kind of toy Drew would’ve loved as a boy and the kind he’d never allow in his house as a parent. That toy would give him no rest. “Look at me!” Becky stopped and raised the sword toward the ceiling. “Booyah!”

  “That has got to be the coolest sword ever.” Lola spared Becky an indulgent smile as she dropped the jewelry into her large black leather purse.

  Lola could afford to be indulgent. That sword wasn’t coming home with her.

  “I need this.” Becky displayed more attack poses, as if she’d been taking fencing all her life. The reality was that she’d watched too many Bruce Lee movies with Drew. The sword jangled and swept dangerously close to Drew’s knees. “I’m going to be in the school play, and I’m going to kill people.”

  Drew’s shoulders tensed. Bloodthirsty girls weren’t good examples of proper parenting. “I thought you were an owl.” Drew reached for the sword before his daughter could do damage to something like the display of vases nearby or his privates.

  Becky spun away. “I am the goddess of war!” She thrust her sword at a large stuffed lion propped next to the counter that was almost as big as she was.

  Jane would love to video Becky like this and show it to the court. Exhibit A.

  Drew reached for the sword again. “You said you were Etna.”

  Becky shuffled two steps back and made a high-pitched strength-gathering sound Bruce would’ve been proud of.

  “I think you mean you’re Athena.” Lola grinned, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. “Goddess of wisdom and war.”

  He’d never seen that dimple before. He couldn’t remember her being that amused or happy in his presence.

  “Sheriff?” Ricky lowered his voice. “You buyin’ the lion too?”

  “No.” Drew scowled at Ricky and then at Lola’s dimple. “Becky, stop that.”

  “All I need now is armor.” Becky jabbed her stuffed enemy with her sword until the beast fell over.

  “Oh, honey.” Lola shook her head. “Athena wears a toga, not armor.”

  A toga? Drew attempted to give Lola the high sign.

  Becky stopped attacking long enough to ask, “What’s a yoga?”

  “A toga…,” Lola said before Drew could stop her, “is a dress.”

  Becky made a strangled noise. “I’m not wearing a dress. I never wear dresses.” And then she raised her face to the ceiling and howled. “Nobody told me there’d be dresses!”

  “What’s wrong with dresses?” Lola held out her skirt and curtsied, displaying less cleavage than Pris on a conservative day. “Dresses are fun. Dresses are cool.”

  “Dresses are stupid.” Becky crossed her arms over her chest—no small feat, given she still held the clanging sword.

  “I feel pretty in a dress.” Lola glanced down. “And look. I’m wearing tights. That’s like wearing pants and a dress at the same time.” She gave Becky two thumbs up. “Double bonus.”

  Both Taylors stared at Lola in silence. Becky appeared to be fascinated with Lola, struck as dumb as Drew was.

  Lola leaned over until her face was even with Becky’s. The rising hem of her skirt raised the heat in Drew’s blood. She tweaked Becky’s nose. “When you get old enough to go to Shaw’s—”

  “Which will be never,” Drew choked out.

  “—you can wear a dress with cowboy boots.”

  Drew had the strangest feeling, as if he were stuck in a snowdrift up to his neck. He could move his eyes to track Lola, but everything else?
Everything else was frozen in place.

  He was certain he’d seen legs as long as Lola’s somewhere on someone. He just couldn’t remember where or whom.

  All he knew was that when she was teasing as she was now, and that dimple appeared in her right cheek, it made him stare at her more intently, just to see whether a left dimple would appear.

  And Lola’s eyes…They were as deep blue and unpredictable as the South Platte River in early spring. One moment calm and reasonable; the next snapping with energy—energy that could make him laugh or bind him in place.

  “I am not wearing a dress,” Becky reiterated, glaring at Lola. Her cheeks were a blotchy red.

  Lola straightened, and her skirt fell back to appropriate levels, which made Drew’s breath come easier. “Don’t you have sisters, Sheriff?” Lola asked, without dimpling.

  Drew’s mouth was dry. He managed a nod.

  “Don’t your sisters wear dresses?” Lola’s gaze demanded answers.

  “Yes.” Drew managed to push the word past his dry throat.

  “My twin aunties always try and dress me up.” Becky waved her sword again. “I am not their doll.”

  Lola’s gaze bounced from one Taylor to the other, settling on Drew. “Good thing the no-dress rule isn’t the end of the world.”

  “It is…if she wants to play Athena.” Drew grinned at Lola recklessly, forgetting for a moment that she was unpredictable, eccentric, and out of control. “Sometimes kids back themselves into corners.”

  Becky made a huffing noise. The sword clanged softly.

  “Kids?” Lola grinned back at Drew, flashing that dimple. “Sometimes people back themselves into corners.”

  The reckless grin was still on his face—he could feel it—but his next question was serious. That window dressing and this search would lead her nowhere. “Have you backed yourself into a corner?”

  “Nope.” Lola stopped smiling.

  “You two”—Ricky came around the counter to pick up the defeated lion—“need a chaperone.”

  Lola’s heels clicked on the linoleum as she backed up a few steps.