if he’s having an affair?”
I glare at him in the mirror. My hand fumbles at the back of my neck for the snap to release the cape draped over me. The surreal quality of this situation hits me. Why did I think this would work? Why would I let this man cut my hair?
“Hold on,” Vince says. “It was a joke! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t think you would take me seriously. Louis would never have an affair. Never. I’ve known him my whole life and he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. Now I’ve upset you and that’s the last thing I wanted to do.”
I settle back in to the chair slowly. “That’s not my idea of a joke,” I say. “I hope you understand that what is going on is a private matter and the utmost discretion—”
“I understand. And of course I’m happy to speak to Louis. No one has done more for me since Cynthia died than your husband.” He meets my eyes in the glass. Beside us, around us, my hair continues to fall away. I am getting lighter and lighter.
“Don’t tell him I asked you to do this.”
“Of course not.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ve liked talking to you,” he says. “You have that same gift Louis has—you make me feel like everything’s going to be all right.”
My whole body is hot. This feels wrong; it feels like too much. This man is too honest, too present. I forget why I came here, and I need to leave. I pull a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse.
“I don’t need a blow-dry,” I say, and stand up. I unsnap the cape and push the money into his hand. “It’s warm enough outside. Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, and walks me to the door.
I AM too keyed up when I leave the barbershop to go straight home. I need some time alone to collect myself. I drive toward Route 17 and once there I join the rush of cars, each driver speeding away from his job and his day. I make a U-turn and head in the reverse direction. I pass a stretch of forest, and then the gas station and Houlihan’s. I slow down in front of the restaurant and turn into the Fairmount Motel parking lot. I park near the end of the L-shaped motel, directly in front of Room 111. I finger the room key in my purse for a moment before I get out of the car.
The key makes a smooth clicking noise in the lock, and the door is released. I step inside and flip the light switch. The two lamps on either side of the bed light up. The curtains for the room’s sole window are already shut to block out the sight of the highway. I set my purse down on the bed and walk straight into the bathroom, where I wash my hands with the fresh bar of Ivory soap I left here last week. I dry my hands on a flowered towel Gracie brought home from college. When I walk back into the room I pull the two pillows I bought at the bedding store off the closet shelf and prop them against the headboard. I remove my tan heels and lie down on top of the bedspread. I am supported in a half-sitting position by the firm pillows. Once comfortable, I am completely still, my hands clasped on my waist. I take a deep breath and allow myself to relax.
Sometimes I watch the news here, on the small television in the corner. Sometimes I read one of the novels I have stacked beside the pillows in the closet. But usually I just lie on the bed. I rarely sleep. I simply savor the fact that I am alone, perfectly alone. I don’t have to pretend to be interested or sorry or content or whatever else my family or my employees might want me to be. Here, and only here, can I explore and expose my true self. I can be Kelly McLaughlin Leary: a strong, independent fifty-six-year-old woman.
When I first came here I had no idea who Kelly Leary was. I still am not completely sure, but at least I’m learning. I’d been working to the point of exhaustion for years and had lost all sight of myself. But last year I joined a women’s reading group, mostly so I would have someplace to go one night a week.