Mothered (22)
Smiling, she slipped the treasure hunt prize back into the careful folds of the sweater where she’d found it. Before heading downstairs, she quickly surveyed the room. It was just as she’d found it, nothing out of place.
As Grace jogged downstairs her mother was struggling with the door key, twisting it back and forth in the lock. Grace flipped the dead bolt and let her in.
“Why did you lock me out?” Jackie was in a crabby mood.
“Sorry. Old habit. How was your appointment?”
“The people here aren’t as friendly.” She dropped onto the sofa, exhaling as if pooped.
“Want me to get you something?”
A hopeful expression brightened her mother’s face. “There’s a little bit of my breakfast shake left, that would really hit the spot.”
“Okay.”
Before Grace reached the cutoff to the kitchen, her mom called out, “Mind if I watch some of my TV? I just need a few minutes.”
“Sure, take your time. I have some work to do in my room.”
Grace opened the refrigerator and grabbed her mom’s sports bottle with its last two inches of fruity sludge. By the time she crossed back through the living room, Jackie had her feet up, mesmerized as two bubbly women demonstrated a gadget for slicing bagels. Jackie took the bottle from Grace’s outstretched hand without even looking at her.
“It won’t take long,” Grace said. “I can come back and help with supper.”
“Thanks hon, but I’ll be better in a minute. Just need to catch my second wind.” Jackie chugged from her bottle, fascinated by the state-of-the-art bagel slicer, So easy and safe your children can use it!
Grace headed up to her room. This time “work” didn’t mean engaging in her hobby; she had to get that email out to her clients, and she needed to text Miguel before things got too awkward. After shutting her door, Grace tumbled onto her bed and scooted back against the headboard. Quickly, she typed with her thumbs.
Everything OK? Haven’t heard from u
She held the phone, hoping he’d reply right back. When he didn’t, she kept staring at the screen, wondering if he just needed a minute to finish whatever he was doing. The silent phone became heavy in her hand. She didn’t know what it meant, that Miguel wouldn’t answer her. But she didn’t like it. His absence scared her.
15
What an incredible turn of luck. Grace’s mentor hadn’t, after all, been quite ready to retire. Barbara’s new salon was a fraction the size of the old one, and she could only offer chairs to a handful of her former staff, but Grace was euphoric to be one of them. And the cherry on top was Barbara had rented a storefront in Greenfield, where the rent was cheaper. It was situated just a stone’s throw from the Giant Eagle, so it took Grace only a few minutes to walk there.
The bell above the door jangled as Grace entered the salon. It wasn’t quite ready to open to the public, and she was greeted by the chemical twang of fresh paint, but she was more than happy to come in and help Barbara finish setting up. Four new salon chairs were already in place, two facing each of the side walls, but boxes of unpacked supplies made an obstacle course of the narrow room. Just as Grace was about to call out a hello, Barbara emerged from behind a partial wall at the back of the shop.
Though Grace had never been anywhere ritzy like Martha’s Vineyard or the Hamptons, she imagined that all the women there (of a certain age) would bear some resemblance to Barbara. Grace sometimes pictured Barbara, petite and effervescent, jockeying a horse to a Triple Crown victory, or yanking the ropes of a sailing vessel as it sped and bobbed over white-capped waves. Barbara could laugh and eat finger sandwiches with the ladies and smoke cigars while talking stocks with the gentlemen. She dripped in gold and gems—anniversary gifts from the teddy bear husband she’d been married to for forty-five years—even when she was dressed for a day of grungy labor.
Barbara held her arms open for a hug. “Grace! So good to see you!”
“I’m so glad you called me, you have no idea.” It felt so good to be in Barbara’s reassuring embrace. Grace didn’t even care that neither of them was wearing a mask.
“With everything going on I needed to close the big salon, I really did, and Shlomo and I had been talking about traveling,” Barbara gushed, almost apologetically. “But after a long stretch at home and not doing anything and traveling still not an option . . . I’m not ready to give it up.” Barbara held Grace’s chin, examining her face, her hair. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Okay.” But Grace heard in Barbara’s voice, saw in her concerned eyes, that she already knew: Grace wasn’t completely okay.
“What’s going on?”
And just like that, Grace was close to tears. “A lot. I don’t know. The salon closed. And I understood, but I’d just bought my house . . . Then my mom moved in. And things are weird with Miguel right now, I don’t know. I’ve been having a lot of nightmares.”
“Oh, that’s a thing.” Barbara gripped Grace’s hands. “That’s a real thing, I read about it online. It’s a pandemic, brain-on-fire, nerves-on-edge thing.”
Grace nodded. She’d heard about that, too, but she wasn’t ready to tell Barbara, sixty seconds after seeing her again, that it wasn’t so simple. Her dreams had gotten very intense during the early weeks of the quarantine order, and she’d accepted it as constant subconscious worrying. But after the stay-at-home order had loosened and she’d started reestablishing a more normal life, she’d expected the dreams to fade away, not intensify.