Page 98 of Finding Jack
“You’re lucky you caught me when I was over at the bank or I wouldn’t have been in until Monday.”
“Manicure Monday,” Linda said cheerfully. “She’s busy all day long and the women of Featherton are happy again. You’re lucky she came in.”
“Have a seat over here.” Cheryl pointed to a manicure station tucked into the corner.
I settled into the chair as she pulled out her supplies. “Thank you for taking me last minute.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss the chance to get a look at whoever finally snagged the doc.”
Ah. Well, now I knew why Linda hadn’t made the phone call in front of us, and what she’d offered to lure Cheryl: live bait.
“I haven’t snagged anyone,” I said.
“She has,” Jack called.
I glanced over at him, only able to see the underside of his jaw as Linda rinsed his hair. “Just for now,” I said to Cheryl, low enough that he couldn’t hear me. But I didn’t want to think about what happened after the weekend ended, so I smiled and asked her about herself as I studied the small salon. It was a hyphenate, I discovered. Like the grocery-bait shop and the real estate-yarn goods place, this was the salon-beauty supply. Shelves covered the back wall with not just the requisite shampoos and conditioners (she carried only drugstore brands) but a small assortment of nail polishes, cheap cosmetics, lotions, hair elastics, and…shot glasses? I decided not to ask, but I would definitely be picking up one as a souvenir.
I turned back to smile at the manicurist. “I’ll go with a clear coat.”
Linda snorted loudly. “No, you won’t. Cheryl decides what color you’ll get, and you’ll like it or else.”
Cheryl was an artist, I discovered, and didn’t have much use for manicures herself, but it was a nice way to supplement her income from the chainsaw sculptures she made of fallen logs.
“You’re going to answer some questions for me while I work on your cuticles here, and then I’ll pick your color. Now. Let’s start with your favorite book of all time.”
I answered her questions for the next few minutes, including my preference for milk or dark chocolate, how I liked to spend my days off, and my Meyer-Briggs personality profile. Jack shouted the answers to any of the questions he knew, and each time, Cheryl would crook an eyebrow at me, and I would nod that he was right. Because he was.
“I’ve decided on your color,” she said, and plucked a bottle of a coral that verged on orange from her bin.
It was the exact opposite of anything I would have chosen for myself, but I was too scared of her to say anything, so I let her get to work while I watched Jack. “How’s it going over there?”
He grunted something I couldn’t make out. It sounded like he’d fallen under the spell of Linda’s shampooing. I smiled. Having someone else shampoo my hair was one of my favorite luxuries.
I amused myself by studying the rest of the salon. There was no theme to the décor. The floor was a serviceable gray tile, worn but clean. Linda’s only cutting station had a plain mirror in an outdated black plastic frame, and a pile of magazines, no gossip rags in the mix. It was all cooking and gardening magazines.
“Done with this hand,” Cheryl said. I fixed a polite smile on my face to examine them when she let go of my fingers, but I lost it as my jaw dropped when I looked at my nails. She’d painted them white but stamped them with a pattern of vivid coral rose vines. I’d never had nail art in my life, but I was immediately in love.
“Oh my gosh, I want my nails like this forever.” I turned them back and forth to admire them as she went to work on my other hand.
“Now you see why she’s always booked up. The ladies all have standing appointments, and she’ll only let them come in every two weeks so she can fit everyone in. Even in a place as small as Featherton, they keep her busy.”
“You’re a genius,” I said. “Jack? I want to go to Cheryl’s place to see her sculptures tomorrow.”
Linda grinned at me. “The poor guy fell asleep.”
I looked over to see that Jack’s body had indeed relaxed into the chair while Linda massaged his scalp. “If the town is keeping Cheryl busy, they must be running him ragged.”
“I don’t think so,” Cheryl said. “Anybody who needs a specialist goes over to Sandy or even out to Portland if they have to. It’s pretty easy to get an appointment with Dr. Hazlett if you need to. Same day, usually. We keep him busy enough for a country doctor, I guess, but just barely.”
“Except for flu season,” Linda said.
“Except for flu season,” Cheryl agreed.
“Flu?” Jack repeated in the groggy voice of someone who dozed off.
“Hush,” Linda said. “Relax while I rinse this conditioner out, then we’ll get you dried.”
By the time she had him settled into the barber chair with a cape around his neck, Cheryl finished my other hand and had started on the top coat. I watched as Linda combed through the long strands of his hair. The water had made it seal-dark and shiny, and it hung past the tops of his shoulders.
