Chapter 4
SMALL TOWN GOSSIP
JOSEPHINE
The steady whir of the blow dryer in my hands makes my ears ring when I’m finally able to shut it off. Mrs. Ruby’s weekly wash and set always starts my Thursday mornings off with a bang—the gossip kind.
I give the cord a quick flick to keep it from tangling under my feet and reach for my comb, fluffing out the stiff curls she likes so much. They’re the kind that don’t move, no matter how much the Texas humidity throws at them.
The salon smells like hairspray and perm solution, an oddly comforting mix of chemicals. The radio hums softly from the corner, playing the local country station. One of three that comes through clearly across the airwaves.
My steady clientele is full of the old women in this town who know everyone’s business.
They also just happen to be eager to share the latest juicy drama with anyone who’ll listen.
The salon with a room full of rapt listeners is the perfect stage.
And for someone who keeps her head down when it comes to the cliquey circles of PTA moms, I know way more than I’d ever need to if I wanted to force my way in.
Thankfully for them, they’ll never have to worry about that.
Charlie, the other stylist who rents a chair from me, snorts from her station across the room.
She rolls a cart closer to her client like she’s settling in for a show.
She doesn’t turn her nose up at the town gossip any more than the rest of us, even though she’s fairly new to town and probably doesn’t know who half of the people we’re talking about are.
Between Tuesday’s quilting circle, Thursday’s evening meet-up for spades, and Sunday’s after church potlucks, information travels faster than the internet ever could around here.
“So, as I heard it, Shelby’s pregnant again, but this time there’s no way it could be her husband’s since he’s been out on the rig the last six months and she’s only four months along.”
Mrs. Ruby peers at me through the mirror, lips pursed like she’s daring someone to argue. Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up, and even her client, Mrs. Leeanne, tilts her head a little closer, probably ready to run out of here and share the news.
“At least now, maybe poor Travis will see what’s been in front of him this whole time, and kick that cheating skank to the curb like he should have done before she got knocked up the first time,” I can’t help but add.
But when I know the woman’s been around the clubhouse a few too many times for someone who’s not married to a Viper, she deserves it.
Charlie lets out a low whistle. “Lord have mercy,” she mutters, though there’s a grin tugging at her red-painted lips. “That man’s blind if he didn’t already know. Her second looks nothing like their first or third, for that matter.”
A hum of agreement sounds around the salon as the rest of the ladies chime in on the conversation.
Someone clucks their tongue. Someone else laughs outright. The dryer at the back kicks on, but even it can’t drown out the chorus of judgment and speculation bouncing off the mirrors.
“Speaking of babies, how’s Lexi? I sure do miss that sweet girl’s face at the front desk.” Mrs. Ruby’s tone softens, gossip momentarily replaced by genuine concern.
I let out a soft chuckle and unbutton the cape from around her neck, before holding out an arm to help her out of my chair.
She takes it gratefully, bones fragile beneath my grip, her curls perfectly shellacked into place.
“Oh, you know, eight months pregnant in this August heat is enough to make any woman snap. But I think she’s on leave now, so she’s at least home and enjoying a cool and quiet home, while Sienna’s at preschool.”
Charlie laughs again, a master of multitasking. “Smart girl,” she says. “I wouldn’t be caught dead waddling around town right now. A high of 110 this week, the forecast said.”
We all sigh, as if we don’t experience the same weather every year.
“Oh, good. You tell her hi for me next time you see her, okay?” Mrs. Ruby pats my arm, eyes warm.
“Of course.”
I guide her toward the front, the bell above the door jingling as her husband pushes his way to help her home.
While checking her out at the front desk, a young kid shuffles by the front windows. I wouldn’t normally think anything of it, except I’ve been in this town for the last ten years and not once have I seen him before.
He keeps his head down, hood pulled up despite the heat, footsteps slow like he’s unsure where he’s supposed to be. Charlie notices him too. Our eyes meet briefly across the room, a silent conversation of questions passing between us.
Before Mrs. Ruby can make it through the front door, I call out, “Hey, have you heard of anyone new moving into town?”
She stops short, her arm wrapped safely around the crook of Bob’s elbow.
She pauses, turning back slowly to look at me. “Not since that nice young family on Burberry Street last spring.”
Her gaze flicks toward the window, then back to me, a deep crease forming between her brows.
I nod and shake my head. Maybe he’s in town with his family, just passing through, and needed to stretch a bit. I shrug and move back to my station, cleaning everything up before my next appointment arrives.
Still, I catch Charlie watching the street a moment longer than necessary before she turns back to her client, scissors snipping as if nothing unusual happened at all.
The rear car door slams into place, and I take a deep centering breath before climbing back into the front seat.
After a full day at the salon, all I want is a few minutes of quiet, with the seat heaters turned to high to ease the tension in my back while the AC blows straight at me.
Unfortunately, the salon is only three minutes from the babysitter Haley hangs with after school when I have to work late.
My yearning for a quiet ride isn’t in the books. The moment the engine comes to life and the air flutters through the cabin, she starts to recount her day from the moment I dropped her off this morning.
My mind half-listens, while the other thinks about all the things I need to get done tonight before I finally tuck her into bed and maybe get a moment of solitude before my eyes fall shut from exhaustion.
If I’m genuinely this tired now, how in the hell do I possibly think I could handle throwing another kid into the mix?
“Mama, did you hear me?” Haley whines from behind me. Her little feet kick my seat anxiously.
“Sorry, baby. Say that again. I was paying attention to the road.” I lie, knowing damn well I could make this drive blindfolded after driving it nearly every day for the last five years.
“I said… we need to make cupcakes for tomorrow.” She perks up at the end, as if I’ll forget about the sass that started her sentence.
My head falls against the headrest with a cushioned thud. Great, another thing to add to my plate. By we, she means me. Which means that my moment of solitude is looking less and less like an episode of my favorite reality trash TV and more like whipping up frosting at ten pm.
“Why am I just hearing about this now, Hals?” I check the review mirror before throwing on my signal to turn onto our property.
My SUV bounces down the narrow road, leaving a gritty cloud in its wake.
The mesquite trees that line our drive cast shade around the overgrowth of shrubs and cacti that fill the empty spaces.
It’s a perfect natural privacy fence from the county road, and keeps most people from walking through our land.
“Because Mrs. Linda, Casey’s mom, was supposed to bring them for Friday celebration, but Casey won’t be at school tomorrow, so I said you could do it. Your cupcakes are way better than Mrs. Linda’s anyway.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, baby,” I whisper on a laugh, and pull the car under the carport.
“So can we?” Haley asks as I unbuckle her car seat.
“Yeah, baby. We can make cupcakes, but you need to go feed Henry and the girls first, okay?”
She throws me a thumbs-up held high in the air as she races toward the front door, leaving it wide open in her wake. Bear comes out after her, stretching lazily, his typically white fur covered in dirt from his adventures around the property.
“Hey, boy. You keeping the house safe?”
I give his head a scratch, and he takes it before finding a spot on the porch to lie in wait in case someone should come up the road uninvited now that his humans are home.
He should be out back keeping an eye on the chickens and Henry, the goat, but he’s the least interested livestock dog I’ve ever seen. Maybe if he didn’t spend his first year as a little girl’s dressing doll, he’d have the typical temperament of a great pyrenees.
Dropping my bags on the hall bench, I toe off my boots and head for the kitchen to prepare for the nightmare that is baking with a tornado child. Except for when I bend down to pull out my industrial-size cupcake pan, it’s missing.
A groan escapes my throat as I remember exactly where it is.
“It’s going to be a long night.”