27. Nailed It
ELOISE
My mind drifts to Damien over and over as I drive Grams to Nails Such. It’s all I can do to focus and stay in the moment. But I refuse to allow myself to daydream about our last two nights together. Not today. Grams is feeling stronger, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it. Of course, her excitement for our outing has something to do with it. Physically, she remains as feeble as ever, but she grins all the way to the salon, and although I have to help her out of the Jeep, she walks herself inside.
“Nora Harcourt, look at you strolling in here all gussied up.” Simone Williams meets us at the door and takes Grams’s elbow, helping her to her nail station. The heavyset woman has always looked out for her, especially since Grams’s illness caused her skin to become as delicate as old newsprint.
“Hi, Simone,” I say cheerfully.
“Love the hair, Eloise.” She grins warmly.
“Thanks. It’s as close as I could get to my natural color.” I fluff my new red curls. I’ve been bleaching and straightening it since almost the moment I met Tony, and he made it known that he preferred it that way. He considered it more refined. This morning, I colored it back to red. The box dye I used took to my platinum hair like water to a sponge, and the color came out even brighter than my dark red roots. My head is bright enough to belong on a Marvel character and as curly and wild as Julia Roberts’s in Pretty Woman. I love it. Along with the now purple dress I’m wearing, I feel free, like Tony is nothing but a speed bump in my life’s roadmap instead of a permanent roadblock.
I take a seat in the waiting area while Grams picks out a color for her nails. She chooses an OPI shade called Suzi the 7 Düsseldorfs, which is a sort of bright tulip purple. There’s nothing old ladyish about it. We’re cut from the same cloth, Grams and I.
While Simone starts removing Grams’s old polish, I dig through a pile of magazines for something to read. I’m tempted to pull out my phone and scroll social media now that I’m somewhere with reliable Wi-Fi, but the truth is, I don’t want to risk seeing pictures of Tony on his boat or leaning up against his newest car. I don’t want to answer messages from acquaintances about what happened or how the divorce is going. The only friends I care about are Maeve and a few people I know from teaching, and all of them text me directly. So, I leave my phone in my purse and pick up a Cosmo, ready to read an article on how I can make my skin glow in three easy steps.
I cast the magazine aside, though, when I see what’s underneath it.
The latest issue of Echo Mills Today stares up at me, a photo of a man walking his dog on the cover. I pick it up and start flipping through the pages. Same as before, it’s filled with nothing but advertisements.
“Oh, you found another one.” Simone glances over at me, shaking her head. “I thought I threw them all away. Don’t waste your time, El.”
“Why not?” I ask. “I thought I saw an ad for Nails Such in here.”
She concentrates as she slowly paints a line down Grams’s thumbnail. “That’s just it. We didn’t pay for any ad. And the phone number’s wrong. If someone wanted to gift us ad space, the least they could do is get the info right.”
“Yeah, that is weird,” I say in solidarity, my mind grinding on what that means in the context of Tony and the warehouse.
“I checked out some of the other ads,” Simone continues. “Most of them are for businesses that don’t exist.”
“Huh?” That can’t be right.
“Echo Mills is small, even for a small town. There ain’t that many businesses that serve the folks around here. I started googling the names I didn’t recognize. They don’t exist. And the ones that do are listed with all the wrong information. I checked with a few folks, and they didn’t pay for ad space either. We looked for a number to call, but there’s not anything at all in that thing indicating who’s responsible for it. It just shows up in my mailbox once a month. Something shady is going on there, mark my words.” She redirects her attention back to Grams’s nails.
“Something shady,” I repeat. Why the hell would Tony print a magazine for free? If he’s not getting advertising revenue, what is he getting? “I’ll toss it for you.”
“Thanks.”
I move for the garbage, but when she isn’t looking, I slip the magazine into my purse. I want to show it to Damien tomorrow night when he’s back from his secret business and tell him what Simone said. This magazine is dated October, this month, which means that somewhere, Gold Weaver Inc is still operating, and I’m the only one who knows Tony is behind it. But the real mystery is why.
My gut tells me if I can figure that out, I’ll have him.
“All right, Nora. You’re good to go,” Simone says some time later. She helps Grams up, and I meet her halfway.
“Oh, Eloise, can you help me get my credit card out of my purse?” Grams tries her best to move the bag hooked on her elbow closer to me, but she only manages to rock it in my direction. She looks tired and leans on me with most of her weight.
“Not today, Nora,” Simone says with a smile. “Today’s on me.”
Grams grins. “No. You deserve to be paid! You shouldn’t give away your services for free.”
Simone pats Nora’s back and looks her straight in the eye in a way that makes a lump form in my throat. “Please let me do this for you, Nora. You’ve been such a good customer over the years.”
The shop grows conspicuously quiet as the three of us soak in the moment. And then my Grams hugs Simone with strength I know she doesn’t have to spare. Afterward, I help her into my Jeep. She weighs nothing, which helps because I have to lift her into the seat. Once I have her buckled in, Grams places a hand on mine. “I should have given her a tip, at least.”
I agree. “I got it, Grams.” I close her door and head back inside.
Simone smiles warmly when she sees me, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Sorry if I made things uncomfortable. She’s just so?—”
“I know.” Grams looks like someone who is dying now. There’s no denying it. “Listen, she won’t let me take her home unless I give you a tip, and you deserve one.” I reach into my bag and pull out a ten.
Simone holds it up to the light briefly and then puts it in the register.
“Why do you do that?” I ask, remembering how Hank at the Mobil station had held up my hundred before he’d stolen it from me.
“Sorry. Just a habit. I’m checking for counterfeits. We take so much cash here, I have to be careful. It used to be a problem a few years ago.”
“Oh? I saw a cashier at another store do it, and I was wondering what they were looking for. I had no idea it was a problem here.”
Simone opens the register again and holds my ten up to the light once more. “Come around by me, and I’ll show you.” I sidle up next to her and look up at the bill. She points a beautifully manicured nail at it. “First thing I always check is that the president matches the denomination. One time I had George Washington on a ten-dollar bill!” We both laugh. “Those are the sloppy ones. Or, like the writing isn’t exactly straight. But most of the time, what I’m looking for is the red and blue fibers in the material itself. See here and here?” I do see. My artist’s eye picks it out immediately. “Also, sometimes counterfeits are faded at the edges or have fewer details in the art than a real bill. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, honestly. Luckily, I have insurance in case one slips by me.”
“You need insurance for that?”
“Oh, yeah. The bank has special machines that would catch it and take it out of circulation, but that means I have to eat the loss. The insurance covers the lost funds. I’ve had to use it a time or two.”
“Even in tiny Echo Mills?”
“Sadly so.”
“Thanks for satisfying my curiosity.”
“You’re welcome, El. Take care. And thank you.” She holds up the ten.
I walk back out to the car, distracted as I try to put all the clues together. I climb behind the wheel knowing I’m missing something.
“Did she take the money?” Grams asks softly. She looks exhausted.
I wipe Tony from my mind, fixing a smile on my face. “She did after I insisted.” That makes her smile. “Let’s get you home.”