Preston's Honor(6)

I’d gone with my mama to work one Saturday to help clean and someone had left a perfectly good hair-color kit in a beautiful shade of Champagne Blonde right at the top of the trash. I’d pulled it out, and snuck it into my backpack. I’d even loved the name. Champagne Blonde. Rich and classy. You couldn’t be anything but beautiful with hair that color, even if you lived in a small shack and only owned one pair of shoes. Or so I’d thought . . .

Deirdre continued to run her fingers through my hair as she gazed at me in the mirror. It made me feel exposed like she saw something about me I couldn’t see in myself. I wondered if she saw the same badness my mama saw and I looked away, focusing my gaze on the assortment of instruments—a curling iron, straight iron, various combs—on the small counter under the mirror.

As Deirdre clipped my hair into sections and started painting on the color in the dish she’d brought out from the back, she said, “You know, honey, God gives us the things he wants us to have. And well, we gotta work within those parameters. You know what parameters are?”

I shook my head very slightly.

“It’s like a limit or a boundary. Like with your black hair, you can add more red highlights or even a few warm caramel tones, but blonde is not for you, honey. It’s outside the parameters God set. See?”

I did see and I didn’t like it. No, I didn’t like the parameters He’d given me at all. But the thing was, I didn’t think God paid a whole lot of attention anyway. Not to my mama who prayed daily and definitely not to me. So maybe when he wasn’t looking, I could slip right through those parameters before He even noticed.

When the color was done, Deirdre blew my hair dry and used her curling iron to add even more curls to my already curly hair. I tilted my head, looking at it in the mirror. It seemed darker somehow than my natural hair had been, or maybe flatter. It was pretty close and at least my mama wouldn’t notice, especially if I wore it in a ponytail for a while.

I smiled at Deirdre, so happy and relieved that I couldn’t help but to throw my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”

She laughed and hugged me back and it felt so good to be held that I didn’t want to let go, but I forced myself to anyway.

Preston, who’d sat quietly reading the same Time magazine the entire time, reached in his pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and held it toward Deirdre. “Is this enough?” he asked.

Deirdre got that same gooey look on her face again and pushed his hand away. “This one’s on me, honey bunches.”

Preston hesitated, but finally put the money back in his pocket. “Are you sure, ma’am? Deirdre?”

“Oh yes.”

He nodded. “If you could, uh, keep this between us.”

A look of understanding came into Deirdre’s eyes before she nodded and winked. “Client confidentiality,” she said. “Now you go buy this pretty girl an ice cream or something, okay?”

Preston’s cheeks turned red and he looked at me. I smiled at him and he blinked, looking surprised. I frowned, reaching my hand up and running it over my hair. Maybe it wasn’t quite as natural looking as I thought.

We started to leave the shop and there was a strange awkwardness between us. I was so grateful to him, and even though he hadn’t had to part with his money in order to help me, I still felt mildly ashamed that he’d been willing to. I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Preston. It was really nice of you to help me like this.”

Preston nodded. I went up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He smelled sort of salty or maybe dusty but definitely all boy, and I liked it, though I couldn’t say why. I lingered for a moment and when I leaned back, his eyes were filled with so much seriousness that I stared at him for a moment, wondering what he was thinking. “You . . . ready?” I asked, nodding my head to the bike.

The words seemed to snap him out of the trance he’d been in and he nodded, gripping the handlebars so I could climb up. I laughed as he started to ride, pedaling toward the ice cream shop a couple of blocks away.

Later, we sat on the edge of the fountain in the town square, laughing and licking ice cream cones.

“Hey, Lia,” Preston said, pausing for a second. “I hope you don’t try to change yourself again.” He didn’t meet my eyes and I stared at his profile, taking in the ways he’d changed just recently, the way his cheeks were slimmer, and I could see tiny hairs growing on his upper lip. And more than that, he seemed to look at me in a different way, too. I didn’t know if it was just him that was changing or if the shift I felt between us was something else. I sensed it there, just off in the distance, like the shadow of something in the darkness that you can’t quite define and aren’t sure is safe.

Preston cleared his throat. “I don’t think you need to. You’re . . . well, you’re pretty just the way you are.”

I smiled a small smile, taking a long lick of the ice cream cone and swallowing the cold, creamy sweetness, and taking his words inside me, too. You’re pretty just the way you are. The sentiment flowed through me along with a small shiver, and I hoped he thought it was only the ice cream that had affected me that way. Preston thought I was pretty? No one had ever told me I was pretty before. I tilted my head and answered softly, “Okay.”





CHAPTER TWO