I’m busy sifting through his container of accessories and hair clips when a bright-eyed lady rolls up clutching an iPad. She’s pushed by a girl, I’m guessing maybe a little younger than me, wearing sweats and a baggy Better than Ezra T-shirt.
“Cass, this is my gal Ruthie. Ruthie, my friend Cassie is helping me out today.”
Ruthie taps out an electronic “hello” on her tablet and introduces us to her granddaughter, Michelle, who offers only a halfhearted wave from behind Ruthie’s wheelchair. “She’s shy,” Ruthie tells us with her iPad.
Michelle gives granny the look of being completely mortified. I might have in her shoes, too. Except even if I wanted to, I can’t let myself get shy anymore. After everything, I’ve forced myself to come out of my shell even when I’d rather hide. Confidence, statistically, is a deterrent for attackers.
Still, I’m not friendly the way I used to be. It’s something I’m trying to learn from AJ’s good example. Even Jake, for all his surliness, manages to nod and smile when he passes people. There’s nothing to be gained from having people think you’re a jerk.
“Hey, Ruthie.” I hold up a bottle of pearly pink nail polish I found buried under all of AJ’s other supplies. “After AJ does your hair, I could give those nails some color. Whaddaya think?”
She doesn’t answer with the iPad, but her lips curve up and her eyes get bright.
“Great. I’ll be waiting.” I shake the bottle against my hand while AJ drapes a towel around her to cut her hair. The warmth I’ve carried around all day intensifies, growing as I watch my friend chatter with this lady and her electronic device.
I try not to think of all the “maybes” but lately my brain seems full of them. Maybe if I’d done this thing or that thing differently. If I’d been home more... I could have been a better kid to my mom. I was sort of selfish, once high school and college started. I got wrapped up in trying to figure myself out and everything. Trying to find a place where it wasn’t all pain and anger.
If I’d paid better attention to how much Mom hurt too, maybe she’d still be around. Maybe I wouldn’t be in Evergreen Grove.
Maybe if I’d skipped the record store that day after school and gone straight home like I was supposed to...
See? All the maybes.
“She had surgery,” Michelle says over my shoulder. “On her throat. That’s why she can’t talk.”
“Oh. Wow. Well, she seems like she’s in remarkable spirits.”
Michelle looks over toward her grandmother, nodding. “I don’t know how, but yeah.”
“Maybe it helps that she has family coming to visit her.”
Michelle laughs. “That’s for me as much as her. It gets me out of the house. My parents are a total pain.”
“I remember feeling that way.” Now I spend my time wondering what I could have done to keep my mother from killing herself.
I hold up the bottle of nail polish. “Hey, while we’re waiting, you want me to paint yours?”
She shrugs and looks down like she doesn’t care. I’ve shrugged that way a million times, and I’m betting she does care. “Come on. The color would look great on you.”
I lead her to a chair and we sit. I go to town with a file I found in AJ’s stuff, smoothing the rough edges before I get started with the polish. “So you’re in college?”
Another shrug. “I’ll be a freshman in the fall. You?”
Me. “I’m kind of on a break. I finished my junior year and decided I needed to do something different this summer. I’m hoping to finish soon, though.”
She nods and splays her fingers so I can get to them more easily. “What were you studying?”
“Business.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I laugh at her response. Like she got served a giant plate of lima beans and was told there are more for dessert. Truthfully, I chose my major because Mom thought I should pick something that would get me a good job. I never decided what I wanted to do if I actually got a business degree. “What about you?”
“I’m thinking Criminal Justice,” she says after a pause.
I look down to paint a finger, and when I look up again there’s a deep crease between her eyes. I can see dark shadows under her eyes. She’s too young for that kind of burden, but I’m betting I know what it means. I’ve seen it enough in the mirror.
“That sounds like an awesome major.” What else would I say? I smile and go back to her nails, weighing the moment and the things it feels like she isn’t saying.