Anita went to the sink, filled up a glass with water, and drained all of it. Something needed to change.I have to change.
The question was... could she?
Chapter3
“Did I cut it short enough?”
Tanner blinked at his reflection in Artie’s mirror. As soon as he’d sat down in the barber chair twenty minutes ago, he’d rested his eyes and let Artie do his thing. Now he couldn’t recognize the guy staring back at him. “That’s me?”
“Yup.” Artie brushed stray hairs from Tanner’s neck with a dry flat brush. “All that hair... poof! I bet you’re disappointed about not saving your ponytail for posterity.”
“I’m fine with donating it.” He moved his head. What a difference. He couldn’t remember the last time his hair had been this short, and his head felt lighter than it had in years. “Why did I wait so long?” he mumbled.
“I have no clue what goes through you kids’ minds.” Artie set aside the brush and took off the black cape from around Tanner’s neck. “Like those white things you’re wearing in your ears. Back in my day, men didn’t wear earrings.”
“Pirates beg to differ.” Tanner winked.
“I ain’t that old.” Artie sniffed but admired his handiwork. “Who knew a good-looking guy was under all that hair?”
Tanner got up from the chair, taking one last look at his sleek new haircut. He had the same wavy light-brown hair his father had had, straight from the Castillo Spanish heritage. “Good job, Artie.”
Artie grinned, his own hair long gone except for some gray fringe at the back of his head. “Glad to have another satisfied customer.”
They walked to the front of the shop, empty other than Tanner and the other barber, a young guy Tanner didn’t know, who was sitting in his chair scrolling through his phone. Artie’s shop was located just outside of Maple Falls and had a good reputation. But like everything around here, his business was declining.
He paid his bill and gave Artie a hefty tip.
“Don’t be a stranger,” the older man said, waving as Tanner walked out of the shop.
Tanner didn’t intend to. After years of keeping his hair long, out of convenience more than anything, he’d finally taken the plunge and had it lopped off.
He brushed his hand over the back of his head as he headed for his red Jeep in the parking space in front of Artie’s shop. After he climbed into the driver’s side, he flipped down the sun visor and looked in the small mirror on the back. This time the gauges grabbed his attention. Over the past few years he’d thought about taking them out and having a dermatologist stitch up the holes. He’d seen one of his friends do the same thing a few years ago, and the scar wasbarely noticeable. Maybe it was time to finally make that appointment.
But not today.
He hurried home, planning to take a quick shower and wash any leftover hair off his face and neck before he went to work. When he entered the house, he could hear the sound of a telenovela blaring from the TV in the living room. What little Spanish his mother knew she had learned from watching her stories. She couldn’t seem to get enough of them.
“Hey, Mom,” he said to her as he walked into the living room. She was sitting in her worn-out recliner, her feet in a basin of soapy water.
“Hi, honey—” She grabbed the remote and turned down the volume. “Your hair! Where did it go?”
He laughed and sat on the couch across from her. The piece of furniture had more than a few lumps, courtesy of his younger brother, Lonzo, and his friends jumping all over it when they were preteens. When he’d caught them, he’d been so angry he chased them out of the house. Lonzo had never jumped on the couch again. “I got it cut today.”
“I can see that.” Mom smiled, her plump cheeks hitting the bottom of her rimless glasses. She had worn her own hair short for years, and despite being in her early fifties, she didn’t have a single strand of gray. “I can’t believe you finally did it.” She stared at him and clasped her hands. “Oh, you are so handsome.”
“And you’re biased, but thanks.” He glanced at her feet in the basin. Today was her day off from her full-time job at the bottling company, but on those mornings she picked up an extra job from the cleaning company she worked forpart time. He’d noticed she was soaking her feet more often lately. “How was your morning?”
She leaned back in the recliner, a chair almost as old as he was. “Long.”
“You don’t have to work two jobs, Mom—”
“We’re not having this discussion again.” She gave him a sharp look.
He was used to seeing that expression whenever they talked about the subject, but he didn’t let it stop him from saying his piece. “Lonzo is almost done with college, and I make enough money for us to live on.”
“Because you work two jobs, right?”
She had him there. He got paid more as an assistant manager than a regular cook, and they could get by with him working only that job. But taking on the catering business meant the extra cash cushion he was counting on for his future plans—plans he wasn’t ready to reveal. “I don’t mind,” he said, knowing he was losing the battle before it even started.
