I park in front of the barbershop, which could use a fresh coat of paint and a touch-up to its sign. I’ve heard rumors that over the past few weeks Vince has taken to disappearing from work for hours at a time. He’s been standing up regular customers and generally neglecting the upkeep of the shop. I can see that now, looking through the slightly dirty front window at the mayor of Ramsey clipping his scissors above the head of a customer. I have to wonder if he’s drinking again. If we’re going to go through that tired pattern of me offering help and his refusing it and then apologizing later.
The little bells tied to the barbershop’s door ring as I push it open.
Vince turns, his face full of surprise, even though I am fairly sure he saw me approaching through the window. “Louis,” he says. “Long time no see. How are you?”
The air in the shop is stale and musty and I suddenly want to be back outside again. I stay by the door. “Look, if the wait is going to be long, I can come back. I have work to do.”
“No, no. Don’t leave. I’m done with George here.”
Obligingly, George stands up out of the chair. “Hey, Louis,” he says.
“George,” I say. George is a salesclerk at the Ramsey Outdoor store. I’ve known him for twenty years, but we’ve never said more to each other than hello and good-bye. George is a man of few words. True to form, he hands Vince a ten-dollar bill, and leaves. The bells on the door ring out his absence.
Vince and I face each other for an awkward moment. We haven’t spoken since the night he asked me to drop by his office and then told me he thought I needed a friend. He said that if I needed a shoulder to cry on, he was more than happy to offer his. Or that he could get a referral for me for a good shrink.
I walk around him and sit down. The vinyl squeaks under my weight.
“That was terrible news about the fire,” Vince says. “Thank God your brother-in-law was okay. It was Ramsey’s worst blaze in four years.”
“I would have thought you’d have shown up at the scene, too. Didn’t the chief radio you?” I am talking just for something to say. I don’t want to talk about the fire.
“Forgot my radio that day,” Vince says. “Gosh, you do need a trim. How long has it been?”
“Two months, probably.”
Vince tsks tsks over my head. He is comfortable in barber mode. Vince sprays my hair with a water bottle, and a damp mist falls over my face.
“So, how are you?”
“Great. Couldn’t be better. How about you?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“How’s Kelly?”
“She’s great, too,” I say.
He clips at the back of my hair and I can feel the metal brush my scalp. “You guys are happy?”
I give a small smile. Vince is crazy to try to get me to talk about my emotions again, but I have to credit him for perseverance. I say, “I’ve had Cynthia on my mind lately.”
The scissors swish over my head, and I think I see Vince’s hand shake.
“Why’s that?” he says.
“I spent a lot of time at Valley when Kelly’s mom was in for her surgery, and it made me remember visiting Cynthia there. I liked our one-sided conversations. She was the only person, outside of my mother, who ever spoke Italian to me.”
Vince’s hand trembles. I can see it plain as day in the mirror. I pull away and turn in the chair to face him. “Vince, I’m sorry that I have to ask this, but are you drinking again?”
There is a frozen moment where we both stare at each other. Then Vince holds up his hands, as if I have him at gunpoint. “Drinking? No, I swear. I’m not.”
I turn back around and meet his eyes in the mirror. I decide to believe him. “I’m sorry, then, maybe I shouldn’t have brought up Cynthia.”
“Don’t say that,” he says. “I like to talk about her. I feel like almost everyone has forgotten about her now, except for me.”
“You should try to find someone new to care about.”
“I wouldn’t want to find just anybody,” he says. “Wouldn’t you rather be alone than be in a loveless relationship?”
I see something in his eyes and say in real surprise, “Do you have a girlfriend, Vince?”
“No,” he says. “No. I’m still alone.”
But Vince speaks in an oddly gleeful tone. Actually, the combination of