Chapter 15 - The Future She Left Behind

“Where are you off to this early?” Katelyn glanced suspiciously between Birdie and Shirley when the women waltzed into the kitchen at eight o’clock Tuesday morning. Katelyn and her mother-in-law had been in Little Springs over a week and this was the first time both mothers appeared in good spirits.

Shirley looked as if she was dressed for a day of shopping at Neiman Marcus: teal slacks, ivory blouse and sling-back sandals. Birdie wore her usual black cotton capri pants, Birkenstocks and a green Buy & Bag T-shirt.

“We’re heading over to Sadie’s,” Birdie said.

Katelyn dumped the toast crumbs from her plate into the sink. “Neither one of you needs a haircut.”

“It’s the monthly meeting of the Little Springs Ladies’ Society.” Birdie rummaged through her purse.

“You mean the Widow-makers’ Club,” Katelyn said.

“Why would you call it that?” Shirley asked.

“Because once a woman joins, her husband expires shortly after.” Katelyn looked at her mother. “You said Harriet’s husband kicked the bucket a week after she came to her first meeting.”

Shirley’s eyes widened.

“Sadie’s ex-husband died after she began going to the meetings, and he lived in Kansas at the time,” Katelyn said.

Birdie stopped digging in her purse and looked at Katelyn. “I forgot about paying dues. Do you have ten dollars I can borrow? I didn’t have a chance to drive over to the Texaco yesterday and use the ATM.”

“I’ve got money.” Shirley glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s my purse?”

“Did you check the table by the front door?” Katelyn asked.

Shirley left the room, then a moment later called out, “It’s not here.”

“I swear I set the purse there last night before she went to bed,” Katelyn said.

“I moved it,” Birdie whispered.

“Why would you do that?”

“To see if she’s faking her memory loss.”

Katelyn groaned. “Where did you hide her bag?”

“I set it on the couch.”

“Look on the sofa, Shirley,” Katelyn called out, then scolded Birdie. “That wasn’t nice.”

Shirley returned to the kitchen with the purse, then removed her wallet and handed Birdie the cash.

“I’ll pay you back,” Birdie said.

“Nonsense,” Shirley said. “It’s the least I can do in return for your hospitality.”

Hospitality? Sunday night the women had been ready to kill each other. And yesterday, after Jackson had dropped her off at the house, she’d caught the two arguing over Birdie’s cooking. Shirley, in her typical way, had hinted that Birdie might shed a few pounds if she substituted low-fat versions of sour cream, butter and cheese in her recipes. Then the conversation had shifted to politics and Katelyn had escaped from the kitchen and fled to her room, where she’d stretched out on the bed and thought about Jackson—how familiar and strange it had felt being with him.

“You’re not getting a perm today, are you, Shirley?” Katelyn asked.

“No, she’s not,” Birdie answered. “We ran into Sadie at Mama’s Kitchen yesterday and she suggested a keratin conditioning treatment for Shirley’s hair.”

Her mother-in-law patted her frizzy curls. “I told Birdie she could take a decade off her looks if she colored her hair.”

Birdie glared. “I said I’d think about it.”

The grannies were getting along too well. It was only a matter of time before one of them imploded. “I’ll come with you to the beauty shop,” Katelyn said.

“What about work?” Birdie asked.

“I don’t have to clock in at the store until ten.”

“Let’s go, then.” Birdie walked out the back door, Shirley dogging her heels. Katelyn grabbed her purse and followed the new besties.

They piled into Birdie’s Taurus, Katelyn sitting in the backseat. She searched for a tube of lip gloss in her purse, but froze when her fingers bumped her sketch pad. How many countless afternoons had she sat by the tracks, waiting for a train to blow by? She’d daydreamed of jumping into an empty boxcar and riding to the next town and then the one after that and the one after that . . . until she found a place where the lights were brighter, the sounds crisper and the rhythm of life richer.

Katelyn had left Little Springs believing that her artistic talent would guide her down the path to a life where she would want for nothing. Then she’d married Don and there was no longer a sense of urgency when she sat down to draw. Although she’d still possessed a desire to paint, the driving need to hone her craft had faded over time, leaving her unmotivated.

Her fingers curled into her palms. Whom was she kidding? The sketch pad she carried in her purse was meant to cajole her into believing she hadn’t abandoned her artistic self, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Was the young girl who’d left Little Springs eager to make her mark on the world one sketch at a time still inside her?

“Here we are.” Birdie pulled up to a metal storage shed, squeezing between a sedan and a beat-up Chevy truck missing its tailgate. The sign hanging across the front of the shed read SADIE’S HAIR SALON~I DIPPITY-DO FOR YOU.

“I didn’t know she moved her shop out to the backyard,” Katelyn said. The last time Sadie had trimmed her hair had been before her father’s funeral and Katelyn had sat in a styling chair on the back porch. The porch was still there, as were the washer and dryer and the worn leather recliner that Sadie liked to sit in at night and smoke her cigarettes.

“Wait until you see the inside of the shed,” Birdie said. “Sadie’s got it fixed up real nice.”

Katelyn held the door open for the mothers and then followed them into the salon.

“’Bout time you ladies showed up.” Sadie’s bright pink lips stretched into a smile. “It’s been too long, honey.” She hugged Katelyn. The beauty shop owner was an older version of Layla—big boobs and lots of makeup. If not for the deep parenthesis lines bracketing her mouth and her platinum blond hair, people might mistake her and Layla for sisters. “I’m so glad you’ve come back to Little Springs.” The stylist made it sound as if Katelyn had moved home for good.

“This is real nice, Sadie.” The scent of spearmint and eucalyptus permeated the air, a nice change from the chemical odors Katelyn breathed in at the Savvy Salon back in St. Louis. Her gaze skipped around the room. A zebra-print rug covered the cement floor, and a pair of black-and-white striped chairs, a black faux-leather couch and a black lacquer coffee table covered with gossip magazines composed the waiting area. A styling chair sat across the room next to a standing dryer.

“Got that on eBay.” Sadie pointed to the zebra head hanging on the wall. “Goes with the color scheme.”

“Is this your daughter, Birdie?” a lady wearing a bright yellow outfit asked.

“This is Katelyn and her mother-in-law, Shirley Pratt.” Birdie waved a hand at the couch, where the lady in yellow sat next to a woman who wore the same polo shirt and Bermuda shorts but in blue. “Etta and Faye. They’re twins. Etta wears yellow and Faye likes blue.”

“Nice to meet you, ladies,” Katelyn said. “Have you lived in Little Springs long?”

The blue twin spoke. “We moved here five years ago from El Paso. Etta and I are retired librarians.”

“We live in town but spend a lot of time at the Sutton farm raising organic vegetables,” Etta said.

“Neither of us has ever been married,” Faye said. “We chose to devote our lives to literacy.”

Etta beamed. “We’re the book-club coordinators for the ladies’ society.”

Book club? Katelyn couldn’t recall ever having seen her mother read a book. Etta must have guessed her thoughts, because she said, “It’s a work in progress.”

Birdie waved at one of the few African-Americans living in Little Springs. “You remember Harriet. Her husband, Zeke, worked with your dad at the lake.”

“Hello, Harriet.”

“Glad you found your way home.” Harriet adjusted the rainbow-colored silk scarf around her neck, the silver bangles on her wrist clanking loudly before she folded her hands in the lap of her colorful bohemian skirt.

“This is Nanette, Clara Smith’s daughter,” Birdie said. “She’s a nurse at the health clinic in Pecos. She moved here after Clara drove her car through the front window of Gifford’s Resale last year.”

Nanette smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken away my mother’s car keys.”

The sly old lady must have a second set hidden somewhere. Yesterday Clara had driven her Lincoln to the grocery store and left it parked in the crosswalk in front of the entrance, keys in the ignition and the motor running. Walter had rushed outside to move the car.

“And Mavis.” Birdie pointed to a short, stocky woman who could pass for a drill sergeant. “You remember meeting her son, Scott, at your father’s funeral.”

No, Katelyn didn’t. “What’s Scott been up to?”

“The usual. Nothing.” Mavis’s loose jowls reminded Katelyn of a bulldog.

Nanette offered a sympathetic smile. “Scott’s been diagnosed with adult ADD.”

Mavis bared her teeth. “Also known as good-for-nothing lazy-ass syndrome.”

“And last but not least is Doris.” Birdie smiled at the frail-looking woman perched on the end of the couch.

“We’re celebrating Birdie’s birthday tomorrow at Doris’s house.” Faye’s gaze swung between Shirley and Katelyn.

“Don’t worry,” Birdie said. “I plan on bringing Shirley. But Katelyn’s working.”

“I’ll stop by the party when I get off,” Katelyn said.

“While you all discuss plans for Birdie’s party, I’ll start Shirley’s keratin conditioning treatment.” Sadie patted Katelyn’s head. “Your hair could use a little TLC, too. An avocado mask would bring back the shine.”

“Sure. Why not?” Katelyn said.

It took five minutes to wash and rinse Katelyn’s hair and apply the mask. After Sadie covered the wet strands with a plastic cap, Katelyn took her avocado-smelling head back to the couch and eavesdropped on the women’s conversations. Without being conscious of her actions, she opened her doodle pad and began sketching. Her pencil flew over the paper, fast and furious, each stroke fueling a slow-building fire in the pit of her stomach. After several minutes she flipped the page and began another drawing, feeling the heat in her gut spread into her chest, then break off and trail down her arms and legs.

With her eyes glued to the group, her hand moved of its own will across the paper. It had been ages since she’d experienced the thrill of capturing and preserving a living, breathing moment in time.

Katelyn flipped to a clean page and studied Nanette. This woman was the peacekeeper, jumping in when tempers flared. Her eyes moved to Mavis’s face—her mouth turned down at the corner, but the twinkle in her eyes convinced Katelyn that her grouchy personality was mostly an act. Etta and Faye liked to toss around big words and show off their education. Harriet was the observer—her eyes didn’t miss a thing, not even Katelyn sketching. She contributed little to the conversation, but when a debate needed to be settled, Harriet had the final word. Doris smiled and giggled, finding everything amusing. And then there was Birdie.

Katelyn’s mother made sure everyone had what they needed. When Harriet squirmed in her seat, Birdie handed her a throw pillow to help support her back. When Faye fanned her face with a magazine, Birdie fetched a bottle of water from the mini fridge behind the door. When Doris made a move to stand up, Birdie offered her hand.

As Katelyn watched Birdie look after the other women, it occurred to her that she and her mother shared the same need to take care of others. Yet Birdie insisted Shirley wasn’t Katelyn’s responsibility, which only supported Katelyn’s belief that her mother was jealous of the attention her daughter showed Shirley. Katelyn had a lot to make up for once her divorce from Don was final.

Her hand wasn’t even tired when Sadie interrupted her a half hour later. “Time to rinse.” Katelyn followed her to the sink next to the styling chair, where Shirley flipped through a magazine.

“What’s this I hear about you getting divorced?” Sadie asked.

Before Katelyn opened her mouth to respond, Shirley spoke. “I told Katelyn that marriages are full of little ups and downs.” Shirley set the magazine aside. “Katelyn will work things out with my son.”

Did Shirley really believe that?

“In this day and age if a woman wants to keep her husband’s attention, she needs to take care of herself.” Shirley pointed at Katelyn. “You’re still attractive for your age, but you could use a little snip here and there.”

“Nonsense.” Sadie turned off the water and wrapped a towel around Katelyn’s head. “Your daughter-in-law is beautiful.” Sadie propped her hands on her hips. “Has your son kept himself up all these years?”

“Don’s very well-groomed and his wardrobe is impeccable.”

“So in other words,” Sadie said, “he’s put on a few pounds, too.”

“It’s hardly noticeable,” Shirley said.

Katelyn bit her tongue to keep from adding a comment about Don’s receding hairline.

“However things work out, I hope you’re happy.” Sadie fluffed Katelyn’s damp hair. “Want me to blow-dry it?”

“No, thanks.” She wrapped an elastic band around the strands. “I’m heading straight to work from here.”

“I’ve been begging Katelyn to try a new hairstyle for years,” Shirley said. “Don’t you agree, Sadie, that long hair should only be worn by younger women?”

“Are you saying that my hair doesn’t look good on me?” Sadie pointed to her blond locks.

Katelyn intervened before Shirley dug herself a deeper hole. “I’m not that old,” she said.

“Your mid-forties are right around the corner. It takes a few years to experiment with styles before you find one that’s classic and timeless.”

“I do believe a woman’s hair says something about her.” Sadie pinched a strand of Shirley’s hair between her fingers. “How long have you been wearing your hair like Betty White?”

Shirley gasped, and Katelyn coughed to cover her smile.

“Don’t get excited. Betty’s hair has made her millions over the years, but believe me, it’s not going to make you any money.”

Katelyn expected Shirley to march out the door, but her mother-in-law surprised her by asking, “How would you cut my hair?”

Sadie picked at Shirley’s bangs. “I’d get rid of the curls. Spike the ends up. Maybe change the color and add a few darker highlights so you don’t look so washed-out.”

“I vote to lose the curls, too.” Birdie’s voice carried across the room.

Mavis walked over to the styling chair. “If you get rid of the curls at the back of your neck, you could get a tattoo like mine.” She turned around to show Shirley.

“What is that?” Shirley asked.

“A turtle,” Mavis said. “What did you think it was?”

“It looks like a toddler scribbled on your skin with Crayola markers.” Shirley made a move to escape the chair, but Mavis blocked her exit.

“Ladies,” Katelyn said, “will you give me a minute with my mother-in-law?”

Sadie led Mavis back to the group.

“Curls are classic,” Shirley said. “I don’t understand why Sadie wants to get rid of them.”

“You’re the one who’s always telling others how to wear their hair, but when someone suggests a new style for you, suddenly they don’t know what they’re talking about.” Katelyn pointed to the women. “Sadie’s only two years younger than you.”

“Really?”

“Yep, but you’d never guess, would you?”

Shirley shook her head.

“It’s not having long hair that makes Sadie look younger—it’s how that long hair makes her feel when she looks in the mirror.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sadie’s hairstyle makes her happy, and when she’s happy, she smiles a lot. When she’s smiling, people don’t see the wrinkles around her eyes—they see the twinkle in them.”

Shirley’s gaze followed Sadie around the room.

“I think Sadie believes a sassier haircut and a bit of color will make you smile more.”

Shirley studied her fingernails, then pulled in a deep breath and looked past Katelyn. “Sadie, come back here and cut off my curls.”

Katelyn squeezed Shirley’s hand. “I have to get to work.” She collected her things, then walked over to her mother and whispered, “If Shirley hates the haircut, call me and I’ll find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”