by Sue Pethick
She’d have to move quickly. If she was going to nip this problem in the bud, she needed more information, and she wasn’t going to find it in a karaoke bar.
Savannah put her hand to her forehead and grimaced.
“Oh. Oh, no.”
Charity sobered. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Angie said. “We were just having a little fun.”
“I think I’m getting a migraine,” Savannah moaned. “It must have been something in the Cosmo.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Just let me sit here a second. Maybe it’ll pass.”
“You want a glass of water?” Angie said.
Savannah wretched pitifully and shook her head.
“It doesn’t help. I’m sorry. I think I’ll just have to go home and go to bed.”
“Hey, sure. We understand. You need a ride or anything?”
Savannah swallowed hard and reached for her purse.
“No,” she said as she took out her keys. “It’s all right. You guys stay here and enjoy the karaoke.”
She lifted her gaze to the man at the bar and saw him come to attention as she gave him a knowing smile.
“I think I’ve found someone to take me home.”
CHAPTER 9
Berenice Judson was one of Renee’s favorite clients. A strawberry blonde with an ample figure, a sweet face, and a booming voice, Berenice had a way of giving Renee and everyone within earshot the giggles. The two of them were the same age, both with three kids and aging parents who occasionally drove them crazy, and—now that Jack had accepted Renee’s invitation—both were anticipating the arrival of out-of-town guests. Renee didn’t normally discuss personal problems with her clients, but she was willing to make an exception for Berenice.
“So, your brother Jack and them decided to brave another holiday with Mr. Grumpy, did they?”
Berenice was sitting with her arms akimbo under the black drape, looking like a giant bat who’d swooped into the salon for a cut and color.
“Just for two days,” Renee said. “I figure he and Dad should be able to keep from killing each other that long.”
“And what’s-her-name, your sister-in-law, is she going to mind her p’s and q’s?”
“Who knows?”
Renee made another part in Berenice’s hair and daubed some color onto the roots. It was hard to know what to expect from Megan. Before she’d had children of her own, the two of them had been pretty close, but after Grace and Lilly came along, her attitude toward Renee’s kids—especially Kieran—had changed. If Megan would just stand back and let the three of them work things out on their own, she thought, they’d get along fine. Instead, she hovered on the sidelines, ready to get involved in even minor squabbles. The resulting tension was hard on everyone.
“Take my advice,” Berenice said. “Hand the woman a drink when she walks through your door, and keep the glass full until she leaves—and pour one for yourself, too. Trust me, this is the voice of experience talking. When I make up my holiday guest list, Jack Daniels is the first person I invite.”
Renee laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Berenice was done, Renee cleaned up her station and headed into the back. She’d left ninety minutes open in her schedule to do her holiday shopping that day. If she was lucky, there’d still be a few parking places open at the mall.
Sissy was mixing a batch of highlighter at the counter.
“Hey, Renny! How’s it going?”
“Fine,” Renee said, dumping her mixing bowls in the sink.
“I got some more hair for your little guy.”
She nodded her head in the direction of Renee’s cubby.
“Had a gal come in needing to have her dreads cut off for work, so I saved one—thought he might get a kick out of it. You’ll want to air it out first, though.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pee-yew.”
Renee plugged the drain and turned on the water, squirting in some dishwashing liquid.
“Thanks for thinking of him.”
Sissy watched the bubbles rise.
“How’d the conference with his teacher go? He wasn’t in trouble, was he?”
“No, no trouble. She just wanted to tell me about a new program at his school.”
“What kind of program?”
Renee hesitated. She didn’t really want to discuss it, but she’d taken Sissy into her confidence more than once when she needed a shoulder to cry on. It seemed churlish not to pass along some good news, for a change.
“Someone gave a grant to the school to help kids with learning disabilities,” she said. “The counselor thinks it might be good for Kieran.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. I just wish Greg could see how hard Kieran is trying. Poor kid blames himself for the breakup.”
“Has your ex told you if he’s coming to see the kids at Christmas?”
Renee nodded. “He says he can’t make it.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, you know. The weather’s bad; he can’t spare the time; the new wife’s puking her guts out. I just got his email this morning.”
“Guess that means you’ll have to give them the bad news then, huh?”
“Yup.”
Of course that’s what it meant, Renee thought. That’s what it always meant whenever Greg backed out of a commitment. Why should he have to be the bad guy?
She set the bowls out to dry, put her combs in the Barbicide, and checked the time. Renee had been planning to go easy on the gift-giving this year, but after reading Greg’s email, she’d decided not to worry about the budget. If she couldn’t persuade their father to visit them, she thought, at least she could give her kids what they wanted.
The door swung open, and Dottie popped her head in.
“Hey, Renee, you busy?”
“I’m just heading out to the mall. Why, do you need something?”
“No, but there’s a guy out here says he needs a haircut right away and wants to know if you’ll take him.”
Renee and Sissy exchanged a look.
“A man?”
Dottie nodded. “He asked for you specially.”
“Hey, if you won’t take him,” Sissy said, “I will.”
Renee couldn’t think who it might be, unless . . .
Oh, lord. It isn’t Butch, is it?
“Let me see who it is, first.”
She stepped over to the door to take a peek.
“He’s over yonder,” Dottie said, as if there might be more than one man in the waiting area.
Renee peered across the room, prepared to find the portly, balding Butch loitering by the front desk. Instead, she saw Travis Diehl, trying to act as if he didn’t notice that every woman in the salon was staring at him.
Like a bunch of hens when a rooster struts into the barnyard.
“Well?” Dottie said. “You gonna cut his hair or not?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”
* * *
“It took me a while to track you down,” Travis said. “Since I didn’t know where you worked, I just started calling every salon in town. In hindsight, doing it in alphabetical order probably wasn’t the best idea.”
“You’re lucky you caught me,” she said. “I was just walking out the door.”
He smiled. “Then I guess it’s my lucky day.”
Renee frowned thoughtfully and lifted another section of hair. It might have been his lucky day, she thought, but that didn’t mean it was hers. A man’s haircut didn’t pay as much as a woman’s did, and she’d still have to find time to get to the mall. Still, she was flattered that he’d spent so much time trying to find her—even if it was just so she could cut his hair.
“What’s the rush?” she said. “Got a big date coming up?”
“Something like that.”
Of course he has a date. Stop acting like a teenager.
“To tell you the truth, though, I�
��d skip it if I could. It’s just one of those things I get roped into every so often.”
Renee put down her scissors and ruffled his damp hair, trying to get a feel for the overall shape. He had good hair for a man his age—which, judging by the amount of grey in it, she guessed was around forty-five, though he looked younger. It had just the right amount of wave and none of the whorls that could make a shorter cut hard to control. She checked the effect in the mirror.
“What do you think? I can take off a little more if you’d like.”
“No,” he said, turning his head. “It looks good.”
“Okay, let’s see what you think once it’s dry.”
A final few snips and a quick clean-up with the electric razor and she was done. Renee removed the drape, and he paid the bill, adding a generous tip. As she set the money in the till, though, Travis didn’t turn away.
“Listen,” he said, looking slightly abashed. “The truth is, I didn’t come by just to get my hair cut.”
“Oh?”
“I was hoping you might be free to have coffee with me sometime.”
She licked her lips. “‘Sometime’?”
“Now. If you’re free.”
Renee realized that the salon had become unnaturally quiet. She hated being put on the spot, and she was sure that Travis Diehl—a graduate of Princeton, for God’s sake—would find her incredibly boring, but it was too late now to get her shopping done, and she had nothing else to do until her next appointment. Besides, it wasn’t every day that a great-looking guy took the time and trouble to look her up.
“Hang on,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”
CHAPTER 10
Travis was inordinately pleased with himself as he drove Renee to the coffee shop. He’d almost told her about Mimesis the night they met, but she left before he’d gotten the chance. Once he found out where she worked, though, he decided just to take her there himself. Pat, the owner, held a showcase for local artists every Wednesday, and he’d already told her they were coming.
He glanced over at Renee. She was staring out her window, one hand resting on the door handle.
“You’re not planning to jump out, are you?”
She turned back and smiled at him.
“Not really, but a girl can’t be too careful.” She pointed. “There’s another Starbuck’s.”
“I know,” he said.
“I thought we were going for coffee.”
“We are. We’re just not going to Starbuck’s.”
“So, where are we going?” she said.
Travis grinned.
“It’s a surprise,” he said. “But don’t worry; we’re almost there.”
Two blocks later, he pulled over to the curb and stopped. Renee squinted up at the marquee.
“Mimesis?”
“It means, ‘The portrayal of human actions or objects found in nature.’ In other words, ‘art.’ The owner is a friend of mine.”
“But . . . coffee.”
“Don’t worry, they have that, too.” Travis got out and opened her door. “Come on. She’s expecting us.”
Renee stepped out and smiled at the quirky, colorful artwork in the window.
“Your friend’s an artist?”
He shook his head.
“Even better—she promotes artists. I come here every week, and I’m sure I’ve never left without buying something.”
He grabbed the front door handle and pulled.
“I’ll tell you about it in a second.”
Walking through the front door was like stepping into a different world, one full of warmth and color and suffused with the aroma of roasted beans and fresh pastry. Tropical plants basked under grow lights on either side of the bar, and club chairs, bistro tables, and a red velvet chaise offered a silent invitation to linger. At the top of the wooden staircase, a loft offered additional seating, but what was really different about Mimesis was the art displayed on its walls: watercolor and oil, gouache, giclée, charcoal, and crayon—every sort of medium, it seemed, was represented.
Travis glanced at Renee and saw her staring, wide-eyed.
“Well, what do you think?”
“It’s amazing.” She looked at him. “Why didn’t I know this was here?”
“You’re new,” he said. “And with three kids and a job? Probably too busy to check out the local art scene.”
She looked down. “Well, you’ve got that right.”
A stocky woman with a nose ring and a T-shirt that said Earth Without Art is just “Eh” walked over.
“Hey, Trav,” she said. “This your artist friend?”
“It is. Pat, this is Renee Richardson.”
Renee smiled.
“Nice to meet you,” she said as they shook hands. “But I’m not really an artist—not anymore.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Travis said, giving her a shove.
“And you, don’t be a nudzh,” Pat said, shoving him back. “Artists are like wild animals. You have to coax them out of hiding.”
She looked at Renee.
“You got a portfolio? Something you wouldn’t be too ashamed to show me?”
“Um, well . . . It’s in storage right now . . .”
“Good. Take it out, dust it off, and bring it in. If I think it’ll work here, I’ll book you in a showcase. If not, I’ll see if I can find someone who will.”
“I, um, thank you,” Renee stammered.
“Now, get yourself some coffee and have a look around.” Pat nodded in Travis’s direction. “I’d comp you a drink, but I don’t want to embarrass this guy.”
She slapped Travis on the back and walked off to greet another customer while he and Renee got in line to place their orders.
“Well?” he said. “What do you think?”
She scowled. “You set me up.”
“Come on. Would you have come if I’d told you where we were going?”
She shrugged and looked away.
“No, probably not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Travis ordered a caffè Americano, and Renee asked for a nonfat latte. They found a table and sat down to wait.
“I guess I’m just not sure why you did it,” she said. “I mean, we hardly know each other. You don’t even know if my stuff’s any good.”
“Don’t worry. If it isn’t, Pat won’t take it just for me.”
“No,” Renee said, looking around. “I can see she’s done a good job curating these pieces. I doubt she’d put her reputation in jeopardy. I just—”
Travis could tell she was feeling overwhelmed. From his perspective, asking Pat to meet with Renee wasn’t a big deal. The two of them were old friends, and he knew she wouldn’t give someone a showcase if they didn’t have the chops. But something about the way Renee had looked when she talked about making art that first time had touched him, especially since it was obvious that she’d pursued it in spite of her husband’s opposition. If he could help her find an outlet for her work, why not?
“It makes me happy,” he said. “I like helping my friends.”
Travis heard their names being called and went up to get their drinks. When he sat back down, he saw Renee examining a watercolor next to their table.
“This is really beautiful,” she said. “It looks like the woods near my house.”
He nodded. “There’s a lot of beauty in this area. When I moved away, there wasn’t a day I didn’t miss it.”
She had a sip of her latte.
“You never told me why you left Bolingbroke.”
He blew on his coffee and took a swallow.
“Princeton, remember? Football scholarship.”
“But why go all the way to New Jersey when Clemson’s an excellent university with a better football team?”
Travis glanced out the window and drank some more coffee, wondering what to say. Renee was right—they hardly knew each other—and until recently, some of the reasons he’d left had been a mystery even to him. Talking abo
ut his family was difficult, too; even more so now that his parents were gone.
“There were problems at home. Nothing serious, but I felt I needed to get away from everything for a while. The scholarship gave me an excuse to get out of Bolingbroke without making it look like I was running away.”
“Why’d it take you so long to come back?”
He shrugged.
“Work, mostly. I got a job offer in Texas I couldn’t refuse, but I always planned to return someday.” He laughed. “Which usually means never, but in my case, I was serious.”
She grinned.
“Never say never?”
“Right.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I met a gal, fell in love, got married. Her family was in Texas, though, and she didn’t like the idea of moving. We came back to visit every year, but even after her folks passed, she wasn’t keen on the idea of making this place her home.”
“And then your parents died.”
Travis looked down as the realization struck him: Emmy was never going to move back. Hugh was just a convenient excuse.
“Actually,” he said, “Daddy died first, but it was pretty plain that Mother wouldn’t last long without him. When I told my wife it was now or never, she decided that ‘never’ suited her just fine.”
“I’m sorry.”
He tried to smile, felt it falter.
“Don’t be. It’s over now. Probably for the best, too.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes after that, savoring their drinks, eventually pointing out the pictures in the showcase that each of them liked best. After his revelation about Emmy, Travis was grateful to have a break from answering questions. Acknowledging his ex-wife’s role in their breakup felt freeing, even as it added a layer of bitterness to his memories of her.
“When I finally came back,” he said, “after Daddy was gone, I moved into the old homestead.” Travis gave her a sheepish smile. “I think that’s why I felt a connection to you when you said were living with your father. Two grown kids living with a widowed parent.”
Renee laughed.
“I don’t know what your mother was like, but my dad . . .” She shook her head. “You know, you move away, you change. You think they’ve changed, too, but . . .”