“Ben, I think the student has surpassed the teacher. That’s one mighty fine-looking haircut.”
“Yeah, Milton, she does all right,” Mr. Taylor agreed as he looked at himself in the mirror, then he caught her eye and winked. “It’s good to see you back at work, Marla Jean.”
“Thanks, Mr. Taylor.” She brushed away any loose hairs and took off the plastic cape. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, okay?”
“You bet.” He put some money on the counter, and then stopped at the Parcheesi game to state his opinion on whether it would rain the rest of the week, or let up by the weekend, and then with a salute left the shop.
It was a slow day, almost lunch time, and they’d only had four customers. Her father could have handled things without her help, but she needed to get back to work. If she played her cards right, he’d spend the day shooting the bull with Hoot and Dooley and they’d both be happy. She grabbed the broom and started sweeping when the bell over the door jingled again. She looked up to see Bradley standing in the doorway.
“Hey, Marla Jean.”
Milton stood up. “Do you want me to take this one, girl?” Her father didn’t have a very high opinion of Bradley since the divorce, and he didn’t take any pains to hide it. She didn’t think her father getting near Bradley with a pair of scissors was a smart move for anyone.
“That’s okay, Daddy. I’ve got it. Why don’t y’all go on over to the Rise-N-Shine? I’ll join you in a minute.”
The three men exchanged looks with each other, threw some warning glares in Bradley’s direction and shuffled out the door.
Bradley looked annoyed, and not the least bit intimidated by their protective posturing.
“What do you need, Bradley? I don’t think you stopped by for a haircut.”
“No, I heard some interesting news, and I wanted to know if it’s true.”
Marla wondered what rumor was swirling around about her this time. She hadn’t made a public spectacle of herself for a while now that she knew of. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I heard you were thinking of buying a house.”
She frowned. “How would you have heard that?”
“Libby said Jake told her. So, it’s true?”
“It’s true that I’m considering it. Actually, it’s good you stopped by. I need to talk to you about the money you owe me for my half of our house.”
He looked surprised. “Now is not the best time, Marla Jean. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m getting married and weddings aren’t cheap. On top of that, things have been slow at the dealership.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but the money is mine. I haven’t needed it before, but now I do.”
He crossed his arms across his chest, looking mulish. “What if I say I don’t have it?”
“Then I guess we’ll have to go back to court. Half the house belongs to me, Bradley. You know that.”
He tried a cajoling approach. “It’s just the timing. Geez, Marla Jean. What’s wrong with your parents’ house? They won’t be staying in Everson forever now that you’re back on your feet.”
“Are you really going to fight me on this?”
His chin jutted out an extra inch. “Take me to court. See if I care. By the time it gets sorted out, the wedding will be done and maybe business will have picked up again. For once don’t be so selfish.”
She picked up the nearest object from the counter and waved the rattail comb under his nose. “You know what, Bradley? There was a time when I would have felt bad about this. And you were counting on that, too. I would have said, don’t worry. I can put off anything and everything if it’s the least bit inconvenient for you. But not anymore. It’s about time I started being selfish. In fact, I haven’t been nearly selfish enough.”
He batted the comb away. “For God’s sake, get a hold of yourself.”
“I don’t want to get a hold of myself. I want to buy the old Brown house, and that’s what I’m going to do, even if that means you and Libby have to set up housekeeping in the Bookmobile. Make yourself a mattress out of those freaking Russian classics you’re so fond of. It’s not like you haven’t already had lots of practice at that. I need my money.” She wrestled with her frustration, anger seeping into her words. “And I need it now.”
“The Brown house? Don’t be silly. That place is way too big for you.”
“Holding my money hostage does not entitle you to an opinion on the matter.” Her voice went up a few decibels.
“When you get like this, there’s no point in even trying to have a reasonable discussion.” That was one of his favorite tactics when they’d been married. If he didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed, he’d press the abort button claiming in that infuriating, level-headed, patronizing voice that he wouldn’t discuss it further until she’d come to her senses. He put one hand on the door. “We can talk about this when you’ve calmed down.”
“Okay,” she said in her most level-headed, sensible voice. “But you better have my money in your hand next time I see you.” The negotiations were over as far as she was concerned.
He shook his head sadly. “I knew the divorce made you bitter, and I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t realize it made you vindictive, too. You’d love nothing better than to ruin our special day, wouldn’t you? Well, I’m not going to let you do it.”
“Ooh! You are the most self-absorbed man I’ve ever known in my life. I want to buy a house, and in your pea-sized excuse for a brain, it’s just so I can ruin your wedding. You are un-frigging-believable.”
“I guess you better contact your lawyer then. Blood from a turnip, though, Marla Jean, blood from a turnip.”
“I’ll show you blood, you bastard.” She started at him with the pointed end of the plastic comb. He was lucky she hadn’t picked up the scissors instead. She might be tempted to cut his heart out and feed it to the squirrels. “Get out of here, Bradley. Get out and take your no-good, rotten, cheating, lying, two-timing, unfaithful, fornicating pig-faced self out of my shop this instant.”
He clasped and unclasped his fists like he wanted to put them through something, if not her face at least the nearest wall. His cheeks turned bright pink and mottled streaks of color flushed his neck and ears. His eyes turned to slits, and he was breathing hard through his mouth. Jerking the door open, he caused the bell to do a frantic jingle-jangle overhead. “Bitch,” he finally yelled on his way out the door. He slammed it behind him, and the only sound in the shop was the dying tinkle of the bell and the echo of their angry words.
Bitch? That was all he could come up with?
She laughed, a sort of hysterical laugh, as she watched him stalk across the street. He always sounded so unnatural when he tried to cuss. Fussy and prissy like the very act of forming the words made him self-conscious. He even held his mouth funny.
That was small comfort to her now. She was going to nail the shit for brains, slimy bastard son of a bitch’s hide to the nearest wall and use him for target practice if he tried to keep her from getting what was rightfully hers. She stomped out of the barber shop, barely taking the time to turn the open sign over to read “Closed.”
Right now, she was furious, and exhilarated, and ravenous. It seemed like she hadn’t eaten in about a year. Not where she’d actually tasted anything. All the things she’d wanted to say to Bradley when he first asked for the divorce, all the things she’d held firmly inside finally came spilling out and it felt great. It felt amazing, in fact. It felt like she’d been reborn.
During their marriage, she’d never had trouble speaking her mind, but something happened after he asked for the divorce. She’d shut down. Not physically. She had managed to get through each day by putting one foot in front of the other. But she’d never really confronted Bradley, never really dealt with the emotional damage he’d inflicted on her—as the woman he no longer desired, as the wife he cast off like a pair of pants he’d outgrown. So, this
confrontation was a long time overdue.
But right now she had a hunger to feed. A clean, voracious appetite that sprang from somewhere deep inside her. Selfish. Hell, yeah. It felt good to be selfish. And the first person that got between her and the lunch counter was going to have their head lopped off and handed to them on a blue-plate platter special.
“There’s not anything we can do without taking him to court, Marla Jean. I told you we should have insisted on selling the house at the time of the divorce. In these cases being nice usually comes back to bite you in the derriere.”
Marla Jean closed her eyes while her lawyer went through her “I told you so” lecture. “I know, I know. I should have listened to you, Helen. I never expected Bradley to pull something like this. So how long are we talking about?”
“I don’t know. A few months if we’re lucky, but it could be longer. The good news is that we will get the money eventually. I just don’t know how long he’ll be able to stall.”
“Well, blast. I’m trying to buy a house and without that money as a down payment there’s no way I can swing it.”
“I’ll go ahead and start the paperwork, but as I said, this could take a while.”
“Thanks, Helen.” Marla Jean flipped her phone closed and rubbed her temple. The week had gone from bad to worse.
After her fight with Bradley, and a carbo-loaded lunch, the furious rush to do battle for scorned women everywhere ebbed somewhat, leaving her drained but no less determined. She told her father that she needed to take care of some bank business and asked him to hold the fort at the barber shop until she returned.
Ollie Johnson at the bank had greeted her like a long-lost uncle, nodding his head as she explained that she was thinking of buying a house.
“It’s a buyer’s market,” he agreed. Pulling her up her files on his computer he frowned when she explained that her money for the down payment was tied up in her divorce settlement for the time being. He grimly explained that without a down payment, what with the loan she’d taken out the year before to update the barber shop, he didn’t think she’d qualify for much of a mortgage.
Adding the bad news from her lawyer on top of that, she tried to tell herself it wasn’t the end of the world. Her parents would be going back to Padre Island after Thanksgiving, and she’d have the house to herself again. She knew she could stay there as long as she needed to, but she also knew that Jake needed to sell the Brown house.
He’d made it pretty clear that he needed to make a deal soon. He might be willing to wait a few weeks for her to come up with the money, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to wait forever. Not with Bud Gailey’s offer on the table. None of this was Jake’s fault, and she didn’t want any special favors, either.
Weariness settled on her shoulders. Maybe she was getting way ahead of herself. Maybe buying a house was the last thing she needed to do right now.
That old notion of picking up stakes and moving on might be something to consider after all. But she had obligations. The barber shop naturally, but also the art classes she was going to be teaching soon. Signing up to take classes had been one of the only good ideas she’d had in a while. Her instructor had been so impressed with her work, he’d convinced her to apply for an opening in the continuing education department to teach some evening art classes. She’d been happily surprised when they hired her. It was something to look forward to.
Her dad left the shop early, telling her not to be late for supper. Her mother was making tacos. She closed up shop, climbed in her car, and headed toward, what at least for now, passed for home.
Chapter Twenty-three
Who’d like some good news?” Marla Jean’s mother walked into the dining room wearing a big smile and carrying a tres leches cake.
Lincoln was still chewing on a taco, but he grabbed the last one from the platter as Dinah picked it up to carry it to the kitchen. Little shreds of lettuce and cheese covered the front of his shirt. “Tell me you’re making chili and corn bread tomorrow night. That would be some good news.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Lincoln.” His mother set the cake down and beamed at her husband. “Do you want to tell them or should I?”
Milton pushed back from the table and patted his stomach. “Go ahead, Bitsy, tell them before you pop a seam.”
“What is it, Mom?” Marla Jean asked. “Good news would be a welcome change.”
“Your father and I have made a decision.”
Dinah returned from the kitchen and sat back down beside Linc. They all turned expectant faces Bitsy’s way.
“Let me guess,” Lincoln said wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You and Dad are getting matching tattoos.”
Ignoring her eldest, Bitsy sat down and folded her hands together in front of her chest as if to make a wish. “We’ve decided to move back home.”
The room was quiet for about ten seconds before everyone started talking at once.
“I knew it,” Lincoln declared.
“What about Padre Island?”
“What about the barber shop? Are you coming back to work full-time?”
Milton held up his hand. “One question at a time. We started realizing Thanksgiving is almost here, and we were both dreading the idea of leaving. The point of retirement is to be happy, right?” Everyone nodded. “And we couldn’t think of a single good reason not to stay here if that’s what makes us happy.”
Marla Jean stood up and gave her mother a hug. “That’s great, Mom.”
Her mom returned her hug. “And since Marla Jean is buying the Brown house we won’t be underfoot for too long.”
Marla Jean put on a plucky face. She didn’t want to put a damper on things by telling them that she’d probably be living with them for the foreseeable future. There would be plenty of time to deal with her living arrangement woes later.
“And we’ll keep the RV. That way we can take off when the spirit strikes us for parts unknown. But Everson is home, and there’s no getting around it.”
“What about the barber shop, Daddy?”
“Girl, the shop is yours. I wouldn’t mind putting in the half day now and again, if it wouldn’t cramp your style to have the old man around.”
“Of course not, Daddy. Hoot and Dooley will be beside themselves.” She would love having him around as well, but the simple truth was that the shop would always be his in spirit, if not in fact. And it was also true he’d second-guess every choice she made. He still hadn’t recovered from the new linoleum, for heaven’s sake.
Bitsy cleared her throat. “There is one more reason we’re moving back home. Lincoln, Dinah, would you like to do the honors?”
Lincoln and Dinah smiled at each other with that private smile that shut everyone else out. Marla Jean wondered what everyone in the room seemed to already know that she didn’t. Then it hit her. “Are you having a baby? When were you going to tell me?”
Dinah started nodding so fast that her head looked like it might fly off her neck. Lincoln preened and put his hand on her stomach. “We suspected for a while, but we saw the doctor this afternoon. We’re due in June,” he said in a voice filled with amazement. “Can you believe it? I’m going to be a father. And you’re going to be an aunt, Marla Jean.”
“I don’t believe it. Holy cow.” She scrambled across the room hugging them both. A baby. They were going to have a baby, and they’d be the best parents in the world, and Milton and Bitsy would spoil the kid rotten. And so would she. Aunt Marla Jean. She liked the way that sounded.
She’d wanted kids when she was married to Bradley, but he always wanted to wait. Considering how things turned out, she was glad. Honestly, she was. And the pang of wistfulness that surfaced for the barest moment was a natural reaction. She’d married so young, and Linc had stayed a bachelor for so long, she never expected him to have kids before she did. But picturing him with a child in his arms made her melt inside.
“And that’s why we can’t leave now,” Bitsy said. “We don’t want to miss
a thing.”
Dinah looked around the room at each of them with a tremulous smile. “I did a wonderful job picking my baby’s family.”
Then she started crying and Bitsy joined in. Marla Jean felt her eyes start to water and soon the three of them were crying and hugging like drunken sailors on leave.
“What is wrong with you three?” Lincoln demanded.
Milton threw an arm around his shoulder and said, “Hormones, son. Get used to it.”
The house was quiet. Dinah and Lincoln had gone home an hour ago, and her mom and dad were fast asleep. These days they were always asleep by eight-thirty at the latest. Marla Jean sat out on the front porch wrapped in a blanket, pushing herself back and forth on the glider, feeling forlorn. Not that she wasn’t thrilled with the news about the new baby. She was. Thrilled and tickled pink. She was also thrilled that her folks would be sticking around. Honestly, really, and truly, she was. If her chance of buying the Brown house didn’t seem like an impossible dream now, she’d be jumping up and down for joy.
But still, she was giving herself permission, at least for tonight while no one was around, to feel sorry for herself, and forlorn was the best word to describe her mood. A nippy evening breeze whistled through the trees, and she pulled the blanket a little tighter.
Since the divorce she’d tried to carry on with things, one foot in front of the other, brave face to the world, but lately it felt like every step forward caused her to stumble two steps back.
On top of that, the whole town was abuzz about Bradley and Libby’s impending nuptials. Thanksgiving was only a week and a half away, but apparently the holiday was being hijacked for the Bandy/Comstock wedding. She’d just heard from Lloyd Keener when he stopped by to get a haircut that the ceremony was going to be held in the town square, and they’d taken out a full-page spread in the Everson Gazette issuing a blanket invitation to the entire town. She would take a stab and guess the blanket invitation didn’t include her. The inconvenient first wife.
Buying a house had seemed like such a good idea, a positive sign that she was refashioning her life to fit the independent person she wanted to be. But now it didn’t look like that was going to happen. And as much as she loved her parents, she was too old to still be living under their roof.
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