Page 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Like farmers, resort towns rise and fall on the weather. When Elsie came in with Drea, her thoughts centered there.

“Hitting the fifties this weekend means boat rentals. How about we run a weekend special?”

“Already in the works.” Drea shed her coat. “We’re doing a flyer, and housekeeping’s putting one in all the units.”

“Should’ve known you’d have it covered. How about we…”

Then her thoughts drained away as Sloan came slowly down the stairs with the kitchen scissors in one hand, a long hank of blond hair in the other.

“I just wanted it gone.”

As she heard both tears and defiance in her daughter’s voice, Elsie moved into support mode. “You wanted a change.”

“You sure got one,” Drea added, and got a quick elbow jab from her mother.

“I just couldn’t deal with it—the motion right now. Washing, drying, brushing. So I thought, I’ll get rid of it. Oh my God.”

In something close to horror, she stared at the tail of hair in her hand.

“I whacked it off. I just whacked it off.”

“We can fix it. Here now.” Elsie moved up, took the scissors out of Sloan’s hand. “I can fix it, and if I can’t, we’ll call Aileen, and she’ll come and fix it.”

“I look like I put a bowl on my head. I didn’t!”

“You went heavy on the bangs,” Drea observed, and ignoring Sloan’s snarl, considered. “I like that part. It’s a good look. The rest’s a disaster, but the bangs work. Once they’re evened up a little.”

“Drea, third drawer, my side of the bathroom vanity. Get the kit I use when I cut your father’s hair, and a towel. Did you forget I cut your father’s hair, and have actual tools for it?”

Miserably, Sloan stared at the sheared-off hank of hair. “Yes.”

“So I can fix it, and if I can’t fix it good enough, we’ll call Aileen. She’s been doing my hair for, lord, fifteen years. Come on, come sit in the kitchen. Cut it dry, with kitchen scissors, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

She felt like an idiot. She had been an idiot. The tears she couldn’t stop added to it.

“I was so angry and upset. I had to tell my captain what happened. I thought maybe I could do some remote work. Just background checks and that sort of thing. Something. But he said… basically, it was ‘See you next year.’”

“And that hurt.” Elsie pulled out a stool so she could walk around it, eased Sloan down. “I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing for you, but it hurt.”

She went for tissues, handed them over, then filled a spray bottle with water.

“He said I was valued, and all that. But it doesn’t feel like it. I’ve been away for weeks now, and everything’s just fine without me.”

“Did you want your department to fall apart?”

“No.” She blew her nose, sighed. “Maybe a little.”

After a one-armed hug, Elsie kissed Sloan’s cheek. “I don’t blame you a bit.”

“You don’t?”

“Who doesn’t want to feel like they’re needed, even essential? And you are, baby, but why would you feel that way right now?”

“I feel useless, Mom. So what do I do? I screw up my hair. That’ll teach them.”

“You changed your hair.” After prying away the tail of hair Sloan gripped like a lifeline, Elsie set it on the counter. “And why not? I’m going to ask Aileen about donating it. It’s thick, healthy. There are places you can donate it to, and they make wigs for cancer patients. So a good cause.”

Sloan sighed again. “Too soon.”

Elsie just patted her shoulder as Drea came in.

If part of her hit terrified at tackling the uneven chop of a mess, Elsie didn’t show it. After draping the towel over Sloan’s shoulders, she sprayed the hair with water.

“Drea, why don’t you get us all a glass of wine.”

“I can get behind that. More a box than a bowl,” she added.

“Drea.” Elsie’s single word issued a warning.

“No, let me finish. Now that I see it, I really think short hair’s the way to go. You’ve lost weight, Sloan.”

As she spoke, she got out a bottle, glasses.

“Until you gain it back, the long hair sort of drew your face down, accentuated that weight loss. The shorter hair, and it’s a crap cut, but even with the crap cut, it’s lifting your face up. It’s bringing out your cheekbones, and adding to those weirdly wonderful eyes. Plus, pulling those bangs from the crown? I’m calling that accidental genius.”

“I didn’t want to see it every time I looked in the mirror.” Sloan lifted a hand under the bangs, rubbed at the wound.

“Now you don’t,” Drea said easily, and drew the cork. She studied Sloan as she poured. “I’m doing your makeup.”

“No.”

“Shut up. I’m getting my bag and doing your makeup.”

She handed Sloan a glass as Elsie ran her fingers through Sloan’s damp hair.

“Dad’s probably another hour, right? He and Jonah went by to see the Littlefields, talk to them about taking on some general maintenance.

“I met one of them today.” Drea sipped her wine as Elsie took out her haircutting scissors. “The younger one, Theo. He came into the offices with flyers. Cute, seriously cute. A little strange.”

“What kind of strange? Like serial killer strange?”

Smiling at Sloan, Drea leaned against the counter. “You would go there. No, not at all. He just seemed flustered. The flyers were well done, and the business cards.”

“Flustered’s normal enough,” Elsie put in as she worked. “In a new place, starting a new business, needing to connect with strangers.”

“He did, on the way out, tell me I was beautiful.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “He hit on you?”

“No, not like that. Anyway, UPS Pete dropped off a package, and said he’d dropped one off to Moose at the library, and Moose said he’d met the older brother, and they were going to take a look at the bathroom Maisie wants fixed up.”

“They were making the rounds.” Elsie kept snipping. “I ran into Kate Burkett this afternoon, and she’d met the younger one. She said he seemed very sweet.”

“Did he hit on her, too?” Sloan wondered.

“She didn’t mention it. And telling your sister she’s beautiful is just stating a fact.”

Drea sipped her wine, fluttered her lashes. “I see where you’re going, Mom. It’s going to work. I’m getting my bag, and Mom’s hair dryer.”

“Bring a mirror!” Sloan called out.

“No! Not until it’s all done.”

“Your hair’s beautiful, Sloan. Every color of blond, right up to a bit of soft doe brown. It’ll be easier for you to take care of short, and when you’re all better, if you want it long, it’ll grow.”

“It looks like I’ve got until next year to look like an idiot anyway.”

“Next year’s only a few weeks away, and I didn’t birth or raise any idiots.”

“You know how impulsive I am, Mom?”

“You mean not at all?”

“Exactly. I think through, calculate, weigh, self-debate pros and cons. But my hair? Whack! I think getting shot’s made me stupid.”

“Stop.”

Elsie said it with enough feeling to lift Sloan’s shoulders into a hunch.

“Getting shot made you feel vulnerable, which you dislike. It made you feel weak, and that you hate. You’re not weak, baby. I’ve watched you deal with what happened, day after day. Get up every morning, face it, and work toward putting it behind you.”

She came around the stool, took Sloan’s face in her hand. “But it’s never going to be behind you. It’s part of you now. You’ll get through it, and you’ll get the life you want back. But it’s always going to be part of you. I’m proud of you.”

“You have to be.”

“No, I don’t. I have to love you, but pride’s a choice.”

She stepped back, picked up her wineglass, sampled. Nodded.

“I see where I’m going, too. I’d actually go shorter.”

“Shorter?” When Sloan lifted a hand toward her hair, Elsie slapped it away.

“No looking, no touching. I would go shorter, but I won’t—no more than necessary. Drea’s right about it lifting your face and the rest.”

“Drea’s always right,” Drea said as she walked in with a brush, comb, hair dryer, and some styling gel. Along with her makeup bag.

“I can’t believe you carry that entire bag of makeup in your purse every day.”

“Be prepared. What if I was somehow trapped in one of the cabins during a blizzard, then was dug out and rescued by Mr. Gorgeous? Wouldn’t I want to look my best? I raided your makeup, and you have this excellent eye shadow palette, so I’m combining yours and mine.”

She began to set out palettes, brushes, tubes, compacts. “This is fun. Oh, I didn’t mention it before, considering, but you really need to invest in a good face serum. I’ll send you a link to what I use. You’re pretty good at this, Mom.”

“I’ve been trimming your dad’s hair for years. Not the same, of course, but I know the method. Did I ever tell you about the first time he asked me to trim his hair?”

“No.” Sloan lifted her wine again for a slow sip.

“We didn’t have anything but regular scissors, and this other tiny pair, but we sat down, and I snipped and combed and snipped. We were both very pleased and excited with the results, and… celebrated. So much so that nine months later, Sloan came along.”

That had a laugh bursting out so Sloan had to press a hand against her chest. “Oh, don’t do that! I’m not ready for that yet. OW!”

By the time Elsie wielded the hair dryer, and Drea finished up with her own mascara—deemed superior to Sloan’s—Sloan felt easy again. And resigned. However her hair looked, she’d live with it.

It couldn’t be worse than what she’d done herself.

“What do you think, Drea?”

“Well, I love it. And the makeup?”

“Excellent. Sloan, sit where you are. Drea, sweep up the hair, will you? I’ll go shake this towel out. Then we’ll do the big reveal.”

Sloan waited until Elsie stepped outside. “Drea.”

“I’d tell you if we needed an SOS to Aileen. We don’t. I can’t tell you if you’ll like it or not, and at some point, you’ll want a pro. But I really like the look. It’s hard to give this up.”

Drea lifted the tail of hair from the counter.

“I get it, but I not only really like the look, I’m coming down hard on this needs to be your look.”

Elsie came back. “Ready for the mirror?”

“Yes. And before I look, thanks. I was a mess, and you fixed it. So thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s take a look in the powder room mirror.”

“Don’t scream,” Drea warned. “You could pull another muscle.”

They went together, crowded into the powder room.

“God. I look like Tinker Bell.”

“Sexy Tink,” was Drea’s opinion as Sloan lifted a hand, brushed at the thick bangs.

It didn’t seem possible, but her eyes looked bigger, longer. It did lift her face, she had to admit. The short, sort of shaggy cut diminished some of the drawn look she’d gotten used to seeing in the mirror.

Maybe it seemed weird to have her hair cut above her ears on the sides, but it wasn’t bad.

“I think I like it. I hate to admit your mascara’s better.”

“I’ll send you a link.”

“I won’t have to spend time working it into a bun for work. It’s kind of a shock, but I think I like it.”

“We can still call Aileen.”

“No. I need to get used to it. I haven’t had short hair since middle school, so I need to get used to it. It’s a big change. I think… I think it feels good to make a big change.”

She breathed out, nodded.

“Thanks, both of you. You turned a low point into a high point.”

“Good. Drea, stay for dinner. Your dad’s making the beer pork chops and noodles. Let’s go top off our wine.”

While Sloan sat and her mother snipped, her father and cousin got a tour of the old Parker house.

Jonah, former high school quarterback and Dean’s right hand, had sandy hair under a Ravens ball cap. He had a good start on the beard he grew every winter, then shaved off in the spring.

“Got your work cut out for you,” he said in his cheerful way. “Gonna have yourselves some fun.”

“We had some today.” As the four men trooped back down to the main level, Theo nodded at the demoed wall.

“You’re going to have a lot more natural light in the kitchen with this wall gone,” Dean pointed out. “I don’t always go for the open concept in these old houses—takes away some of the character. But you needed it here.”

“We’re vaulting the ceiling, adding skylights in the kitchen.”

Dean looked up, then over at Theo. “I can see that. Nice. It’s going to keep you busy.”

“We’ll take it as it comes,” Nash said. “No rush. The business, and whatever clients we get, come first. Along with a dumpster, which should’ve come first. Be nice if the snow holds off until it gets here.”

“Work around here doesn’t stop when the snow falls. Work’s why we stopped by,” Dean told him. “Jonah and I are licensed, and we take care of some of the general work. But we lost our contractor.”

“I heard.”

“We’ve got eighteen vacation units, five rentals, five retail spaces in town, and eight apartments, plus our own offices. Too much for just me and Jonah. With our contractor and CJ, we kept up. There’s always going to be a list, but with the four of us, and an occasional laborer, we kept up.”

“You need another contractor.”

“We do. Me, Jonah, CJ? Not enough.”

“CJ? He’d be willing to work with us?”

“She,” Jonah corrected. “Catherine Jane. Licensed plumber, and a hell of a good carpenter. Like Dean says, the three of us? Not enough to keep things running by All the Rest’s standards. We keep ’em high.”

“We do. And we’re always happy to give a new business a boost.”

“But,” Nash finished, “you need to know more about what we can do, have done, and are willing to do. How about we have a beer and discuss it?”

Dean came home with Jonah in tow.

“Brought this moocher home for dinner. Gina’s got a girls’ night, and the kids are with her mom,” he began, then his jaw dropped when he saw Sloan at the counter.

“You—your hair. You cut your hair.”

“I whacked it. Mom fixed it.”

“It looks— You look—”

“Hey, Tink.” Jonah dropped down at the counter beside her to scrub at Mop. And earned a sour look.

“You look beautiful.” Dean walked over, wrapped around her.

“Dad?”

“My girl again.”

“Without her hair?”

He shook his head before he eased back. Then kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Look at that face. There you are. Nobody holds Sloan Cooper down. Jonah, we’re having another beer.”

“I hear that. I like it, if that counts.”

“It doesn’t.” Sloan drilled a finger in his side. “But thanks.”

Since Dean would make dinner, Elsie got the two beers. “What’s the word on the Fix-Its?”

“I liked them, too,” Jonah said. “It’s going to be a cool house when it’s finished. Pretty much have to touch every inch of it to get there, but they’ve already busted out a wall that needed it.”

“Both of them spent some summers working with Habitat, and that’s a solid few steps up the ladder for me.” Dean took a swing of his beer as he opened the fridge for the chops. “Got a nice vibe between them, and reasonable rates. We looked at the plans for the house. And yeah, they’ve got some work cut out, but it’s a damn good plan.”

“Nash had a friend, an architect in New York, work on them with him. Solid,” Jonah declared. “We’re going to have them start on the tile work and paint in Water’s Edge next week, see how they do.”

“They may have work for Moose and Maisie,” Drea told her father.

“They let us know. Putting in some interior doors for the Havers tomorrow. I’ll be checking with them, with Moose and Maisie, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“The younger one hit on Drea.”

“He did not.” Drea rolled her eyes at her sister. “He told me I was beautiful.”

“That’s a fact,” her father said. “I’d think less of him if he didn’t notice.”

“They’ve got a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room,” Jonah added. “Got to decorate it yet, but I give them credit for it.”

“We’ll be doing ours after dinner.” Dean slapped a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “You’re drafted.”

“And I need to take my scheduled walk.”

“Want company?” Drea asked Sloan.

“I’ve got Mop for that. Drink your wine. Trust me, I won’t go far.”

“It’s getting dark,” Elsie said.

“Flashlight in my pocket, and I really can’t go far.”

Jonah sipped his beer when Sloan went into the mudroom for her coat, and Mop wagged his way to follow. He waited until the door closed behind her.

“She needs to walk, be outside. What happened on Thanksgiving wasn’t her fault. She’s careful.”

“You’re right.” Elsie let out a breath. “You’re absolutely right. I’m going to make some quick biscuits to go with the pork and noodles.”

“And keep your hands busy.”

Elsie glanced at her husband. “And keep my hands busy.”

Sloan made it to her afternoon mark, rested thirty seconds, then took ten more steps.

Stopping there, she watched dusk settle over the lake and turn its water deep and dark.

This was here for her, she thought, if she looked out the window, if she stepped outside. As were the mountains, the woods, the trails.

She’d grown used to living in the city, in an apartment. Now—maybe it was the strange Big Change—but she realized she’d grown used to this again.

She just needed to get back to work, back to routine, back to her plans.

She stood another moment, as her mind wandered toward the brothers in the old Parker house. Obviously, they had plans, but what were they, exactly? None of her business, she told herself, except… They might be doing work for her family, and didn’t that make it her business?

She could run a background check, but admitted since she was on leave and they weren’t doing anything to warrant it, she’d walk into a gray area.

Her father was a good judge, and she needed to leave it at that.

She just missed being a cop.

What about Janet Anderson? she wondered. No harm, really, in looking into that. Maybe asking Travis what he knew, if anything.

Maybe just looking at media reports, making some notes, thinking it over would help her feel less useless.

What could it hurt? she decided as she started back.

In their little house, Clara fried up some chicken. As a nurse, she knew oven-baking some skinless breasts or thighs made a better choice. But she used her grandmother’s recipe—rest in peace—and Sam just loved it.

So did she.

They’d both put in a long day, her at the hospital, Sam at the nursing home. They deserved it.

She’d fry up some potatoes, too. Why not go for the gold?

She’d start them both off with a cup of tomato soup—with just a drizzle or so of what Sam sometimes called the magic juice.

Though she’d been on her feet all day, she felt only contentment as she cooked for her man.

To think she’d given up on having a man after her husband died, more than twelve years before. God had called him home, and she’d learned to be content with that, too.

He’d been a good man, Rufus had. A good man, a hard worker. Though she didn’t hesitate to admit he hadn’t lit her up in bed the way Sam did.

God had called him home because it was meant. He’d been meant to fall off that ladder on that windy Sunday afternoon.

Meant to fracture his skull, break his back, bust up his leg.

They’d lost him on the table twice, and brought him back.

A strong man, he’d lingered for days and days, nights and nights on the machine that did the breathing for him, kept his heart beating.

And she’d had to make the choice, and she chose to send him home to God because she understood he was meant to go. And she’d come to understand the machines were wrong, against what was meant.

Machines pitted man’s will against the Almighty’s.

Sinful.

She’d come to understand she was meant to make that choice for others. To send them back, send them home.

Their blood wasn’t magic—that was just Sam making jokes. But it was holy. It was blessed.

And taking it into themselves, a kind of communion. A way to bring them both strength to do what they were called to do. A way to add those lives, sent home, into their own.

She fried the chicken to a turn, if she said so herself. Then called Sam to wash up.

“I tell you, babe, this day about wore me to the bone.”

“You work so hard.”

“So do you.”

“Well, we’re going to have a fine meal, and I’m going to tell you about the one who came into my mind today. How I think it’s time to start tracking him. He’s a year out, but he’s the one who came to my mind.”

“You know best. I swear, Clara, that chicken looks like heaven.”

“A little soup first. For strength and purpose.”

She poured from pot to cups.

They sat, tapped the cups together, and drank.

After the meal, she put her feet up because Sam did the dishes and pots. (Her doll!)

They sat together at the computer and started the real research on Arthur Rigsby, age fifty-six, a dentist in Cumberland, Maryland, who’d been brought back after a car accident and collapsed lungs.

“This one might be a little tricky considering he lives and works in the city. Probably rich, too, since he’s a dentist. Got a wife. She’s got an art gallery—don’t that beat it?”

“Artsy-fartsy,” he said. “I bet she can’t cook near as good as you, babe.”

“This is the one, Sam. We just have to take the time we need to make a good plan. It might take a few weeks, but he’s the one.”

“If you say he’s the one, then he is.” He turned his head to kiss her. “Tricky won’t stop us from doing what needs doing.”

“There’s nothing we can’t do together, Sam. That poor man.” The thought almost brought tears to her eyes. “They dragged him back into this world.”

“We’ll help him into the next. Let’s see what else we can find out about him. And next day off, we take a nice drive down to Cumberland and scout things out.”

He gave her that eyebrow wiggle she loved. “And maybe do a little Christmas shopping.”

“And buy a tree!” Delighted, Clara clapped her hands. “Just a small one, doll. We can put it right there by the front window. I’ve got ornaments stored away, but I haven’t felt like decorating in such a long time. Now, this year, with you? I want the works!”

“Then we’ll have it. Whatever my girl wants.”