A Mother's Homecoming(34)
The background staccato of keyboard typing paused while Dawn explained, “This is my friend Pam Wilson. She chipped in to help with closing cleanup since Stacey’s out. Pam, do you remember Nancy? We all went to Mimosa High around the same time.”
Pam stifled a groan. Nancy Warner? Pam hadn’t recognized her at first because the always thin girl had lost even more weight—the only plumpness on her entire body was in her shiny lips. The two women had never been in the same grade, but Pam knew exactly who Nancy Warner was, a former cheerleader with a wicked crush on Nick. Even though Pam hadn’t stolen her boyfriend from anyone, she’d already been the indirect recipient of Nancy’s hostility. Rumors had run rampant one month that Mae was sleeping with Nancy’s still-married father. The Warners had divorced a year later.
From the way Nancy’s unnaturally violet blue eyes narrowed, she definitely remembered Pam. “Wow, is that you, Pamela Jo? Goodness, what a surprise. We haven’t seen you around these parts since … Let me think. Well, I guess not since you left your husband and baby.”
Behind them, Dawn sucked in her breath in a sharp gasp, but didn’t say anything. Probably because she was too stunned. Everyone froze, including the other stylist in the room and her client. The jilted redhead in the chair actually stopped sniffling, her mouth falling open as she was temporarily distracted by someone else’s problems.
“That’s right,” Pam said mildly. “This is my first return visit since then.” She continued to smile pleasantly and left it at that.
If Nancy was hoping for a catfight, she was going to be sorely disappointed.
But the woman took another stab at baiting her. “Alert the media! The Monitor should post an adultery warning. ‘Be advised, there’s a home-wrecking Wilson in town.’”
Mention of infidelity must have hit too close to home for the newly shorn redhead because she started sobbing again. The girl’s beautician sent a scathing glare in Nancy’s direction, mouthing, Thanks a lot. Pam decided this would be a good time to return the broom to the closet—a space bigger than most of the rooms at her house. Perhaps she’d stay there and thumb through old fashion magazines until tensions had lessened.
Next to the coatrack against the closet wall was a tiny table boasting a coffeemaker and a couple of folding chairs. Pam slid into one of them, unsurprised to see that Dawn had followed her.
“You okay?” her friend asked, looking miserable.
Pam nodded. “There’s bad history between her family and mine. And it’s not like she was wrong. I did leave Nick and Faith.”
Dawn shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, but that’s none of her business. I’m sure you had your reasons.”
Fragments came back to her—pretending not to hear the baby crying so that someone else would get her, the disjointed thoughts she’d had after they’d brought the baby home from the hospital. It was funny because, even though she hadn’t had a drop to drink during her pregnancy or in the weeks after Faith was born, Pam recalled that postpartum phase much the way she did her worst benders. Blurry, shame-inducing snippets that felt more like bad dreams than reality.
“I wasn’t a good mother. I decided Faith would be better off without me.” And from what she’d seen yesterday, she’d made the right call. “Look, Dawn, you’ve been very sweet, but you don’t have to do my hair. I’ve had a he … Heck of a day, and it sounds like you have, too.”
“No, don’t go! You can’t let Nancy run you off just because she clearly has PMS.”
Pam laughed despite herself.
“See, being around me has cheered you up already,” Dawn said. “I’m delightful company—ask anyone. So quit hiding in the closet and get your butt out there. I think our last official client is finished and paying as we speak.”
“The redhead? There’s someone who looks like she’s having a bad day,” Pam said sympathetically.
Dawn blew out a breath. “That girl is gonna hate herself tomorrow. She’s worn her hair long for years. I’ve told Maxine, C-3’s owner, when it comes to radical changes, we should have some kind of mandatory waiting period like they have for guns. Especially for any woman who’s just been done wrong by a man.”
Pam laughed again. It felt good. “All right, I give—you are delightful. I guess I’ll stick around for that haircut.”
“You won’t be sorry. Wait until the shampoo! I give a very relaxing scalp massage. Have you ever thought about maybe changing your color a little, too?” Dawn asked. “Nothing radical, just some subtle lowlights to give the blond more depth.”