Bloodline(48)

She grins and stands, rustling through the drawers. “You’re lucky I used to cut my boyfriend’s mop all the time. I hope you’re okay with a flip.”

“I was thinking more of a pixie.” When I close my eyes, I see Mia Farrow on the cover of Vogue. “Could you do that?”

She spins, holding a pair of scissors in hand. “I can try.”





CHAPTER 34

She does a marvelous job.

I help her clean up bundles of my hair.

She doesn’t blink when I ask if I can use some mouthwash to rinse away the perfume of whiskey. I touch myself up in her mirror—I look so different, so young, my eyes wide and innocent when framed by the pixie cut—and walk back to my car. My plan is to drive it home so it’s there if Deck needs it and then walk to the newspaper offices.

Now that I’ve talked to Grover, I want back in those archives. Meeting with the retired sheriff made me realize how lax I’ve been in researching the article, how complacent Lilydale has made me, either deliberately or because it’s the nature of a small town.

When I reach home, Slow Henry is the first to greet me.

Deck is the second.

He goes white when he sees me.

I feel the hot itch of guilt, and I don’t like it. “You’re home early!” I say with false cheer.

“Look at your hair,” he says, still pale. He swallows, seems to collect himself. “I love it.”

I touch it self-consciously, all the buoyancy I felt with Regina draining away. Should I have consulted him? “Thanks. It was a spur of the moment decision.”

He nods. “How was Saint Cloud?”

“Good.” I scramble to remember what I told him I was doing today.

“You liked the shopping?” he asks.

I try to hold the mask on my face. That’s right, I said I was going to the mall. “It was wonderful! I didn’t stumble across anything I needed to have, though. Maybe that’s why I got the haircut. So I didn’t drive all that way for nothing.”

I go to him. I want to be in his arms if for no other reason than that he can’t see my face.

He doesn’t return my embrace, but I nuzzle in.

He finally wraps his arms around me.

“I adore you,” he says.

The emotion in his voice catches me off guard. He squeezes me tighter. “And this baby,” he says. “I’m going to love it more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

My eyes grow warm with tears.

“Hey, you know what we should do?” he says. “We should buy a crib. There’s a store over in Cold Spring that’s supposed to have quite a collection. I can sneak out of work over lunch tomorrow and take you shopping. Would you like that?”

“I’d love it, Deck.” In the safety of his arms, I speak the closest truth that I have, hoping to bridge the distance that’s grown between us since we’ve moved. “I haven’t been feeling like myself, you know that, right? I’m so jumpy, worried all the time.”

“You’ve been through a lot this year, Joanie.”

“I know, but—”

“We’re having people over for dinner tomorrow,” he says, talking right over me. “It’ll be a big party. Everyone on Mill Street plus some others, so all the important Mothers and Fathers.”

I stiffen and extract myself from his arms. “And I suppose I’ll be cooking?”

He reaches out to touch my cheek, but I pull back.

“Honey, don’t be like this,” he says. “The other women will lend a hand if you want. You just have to reach out. It wouldn’t kill you to ask for help every now and again.”

They’re not going to like my hair. “Do I get a say in who’s coming to my house?”

“If you’ll only listen, you’ll understand this is really for you. The Fathers and Mothers want you to invite Kris so they all can meet him, and you can spend some more time with him. Won’t that help your article?”

“I don’t need help.”

“See? That is exactly what I’m saying. You won’t accept assistance from anybody.”

I feel trapped. “I want to invite Regina.”

Deck reaches down to pet Slow Henry, who’s braiding himself between his legs. “Who?”

“She works at Little John’s.”

Deck straightens. “She won’t fit in.”

“Neither do I.”



Deck doesn’t leave my side all night, even following me to bed when I finally tell him I’m tired. Old me might say he’s a doting boyfriend. New me wonders if I’m being babysat. Anyone but Regina would call that foolish, tell me that the pregnancy has tipped me off-kilter. But it hasn’t. I’m feeling fuzzy headed, more tired than usual, but that’s a natural part of carrying a child. Having a whole town watch me? My husband keeping me on a short leash, even though he calls it our “romantic night in”?

That’s crazy.

For all my exhaustion, though, once I crawl into bed, sleep eludes me. My nightgown twists around my stretched belly. The room is hot. A mosquito buzzes near my head. Deck snores with a rhythm that is so consistent I want to smother him with a pillow.

When I can’t take it anymore, I trundle out of bed as smoothly as my ever more cumbersome body will allow. I recognize my belly is hitting more things. That I can’t stand as quickly. As much as I’m excited for this baby, the vulnerability scares me. I pad downstairs and into the kitchen. Underneath the sink, tucked in a bucket hidden beneath clean rags, I locate the pack of cigarettes.