“I’m fine, Mrs. Henderson. Taking it one day at a time,” I answered with a smile that was a little too forced.
“The whole town is talking about you, dear,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “No one liked that man. We all believed Sadie could do better.”
I swallowed hard and bit my tongue. No one liked the man, but no one did anything to help her either.
Not even you!
I tried; she wouldn’t let me help. She wouldn’t let the club help. She denied anything was happening whenever someone asked about the bruise on her wrist or the cut on her lip.
“Matlock will get this mess all sorted out.”
“He’s very good,” I replied, forcing my hands to stay steady as I sectioned Mrs. Henderson’s hair.
My mother returned from having her hair washed and sat in the chair at Sadie’s station, watching me work with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Disappointment, yes, but something else. Worry? Fear maybe?
I knew as my parents, they still worried every day that Sadie and I would make the wrong choices, choices that led to pain both physically and emotionally. But these choices had to be the hardest. Knowing your daughter kept her abuse a secret; knowing she killed her abuser and your son took the blame… it had to be hard to stand by and watch. Not being able to protect your children from pain.
Having children wasn’t for the faint of heart. It took strength and perseverance to survive raising a child. Knowing you did the best you could and still couldn’t keep them safe. A thought flickered in my head, and I wondered if Tony wanted kids. Not that it mattered. If he couldn’t admit he loved me,then he certainly wouldn’t marry me or have children with me.
Mrs. Henderson chattered on about her grandchildren while I applied the color to her roots, my hands moving on autopilot. The familiar rhythm of the work was the only thing keeping me grounded.
I finished Mrs. Henderson’s hair and set the timer, then moved to wash my hands before moving to Sadie’s station and trimming my mother’s hair.
The morning flew by, and the door chimed with every client. Mrs. Anderson asked me if I was eating enough. I assured her I was. Mr. Kowalski asked if I needed anything while I trimmed his beard, emphasizinganything at all.Jenny Morrison, who went to school with Sadie, cried through her appointment, wailing about how sorry she was that we had to go through this.
I gave them nothing.
Pleasant nods, vague reassurances, and the same practiced lines over and over.
My lawyer is handling it.
The trial will clear everything up.
I’m doing fine, really.
The bell above the door jingled again when Beatrice Allen walked in for her afternoon appointment. I groaned silently, knowing she would ask a million questions, wanting to be the person in town with the biggest scoop.
Beatrice sat down in my chair and studied me through the mirror.
“What are we doing today, Bea?”
“Just a trim, Simon,” she answered quietly.
I worked in silence as Beatrice watched me in the mirror. Normally, she shared the latest gossip she’d uncovered, but today, she was quiet. My mom ran out to grab some coffee, knowing the entire town was waltzing in and out of my salon, keeping an eye on me. She trusted I wouldn’t run. Not to mention the fact that Uncle Alex was the last person she feared.
Carly gathered her things and said goodnight. Beatrice was my last client of the day, and I couldn’t wait to go home and crawl into bed.
Preferably with Tony next to me.
“I want you to tell that lawyer of yours something for me,” Beatrice said when the door closed behind Carly.
“What’s that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and steady.
“You tell him to call me as an expert witness.”
My hands paused. I looked at the old woman’s reflection and asked, “Expert on what?”