to the park, so they’re going to walk. They’d need two cars, anyway, just to accommodate the four car seats. It’s probably best if they leave by the back door.”
Barbara nodded and studied the man she had loved all her life. His golden-brown eyes no longer sparkled with the joy of life and his ash-brown hair was flecked with more gray highlights now than blond. She had not seen the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes for months now, and his shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the cross he was carrying, too.
She moistened her lips, searching in vain for the words to have him turn to her instead of his work for comfort. “Will you stay here with me? What if the reporters come?” she asked. Even though the telephones were still disconnected, she was surprised their pizza party had not been interrupted by knocks at the door, and she did not relish being home alone if and when the media barrage began.
“Carl Landon has taken care of the reporters. As soon as I hung up from you, I called him. He scheduled a press conference at his office for five o’clock which should have kept them satisfied. Besides, if any of the reporters decide to come to the door, I don’t think they’ll get past Rob and Stuart.”
She managed half a smile. Carl was a good friend as well as their lawyer, and he had taken on the role of being their spokesperson within hours of John’s call after Steve’s murder. Their neighbors, Rob and Stuart, bless their hearts, had proven to be as tough and protective as Secret Service agents guarding the president. When they were called to duty, no one got past them to get to the front door.
He kissed her cheek. “Keep the telephones unplugged and use your cell phone if you need to call me. I’ll be at the office. I had two appointments for tonight that I couldn’t cancel. I’ll leave through the back door, too. The walk will do me good.”
“Do you have to leave? Tonight?”
“Judy said she was going to do your hair for you, so you won’t be alone. It’ll do you good to have some time for lady talk. I won’t be late. I should be home by nine-thirty,” he promised before leaving her.
Nine-thirty. After the girls had been tucked into bed.
She tried, but found it hard to swallow the lump in her throat. Bedtime rituals, from reading stories, saying nighttime prayers and getting that last drink of water, had always been John’s alone time with their boys when they were little. He had resumed the ritual with Jessie and Melanie when Steve used to bring them for an overnight visit, whether it was the night before opening remarks or closing arguments in a big case or an occasional weekend when he had to go out of town.
John had avoided the ritual ever since Steve’s death when the girls had come to live with them. Instead, he had wrapped himself deep inside his grief, protected by evening business appointments at his office in Whitman Commons—evening appointments he had abandoned years ago. She did not know how long he would continue to grieve alone and avoid bedtime with the twins, and she yearned to see him kneeling at the side of the bed with the girls once again.
She toyed with the edge of the lace tablecloth and watched him lead the parade of guests past the door and through the kitchen to the back door. When the door finally closed, filling the house with suffocating silence, she flinched and dropped her gaze, feeling so very, very alone.
“I’ve got everything with me. Are you in the mood to be pampered a little?”
Startled, she looked up and saw Judy standing in the doorway holding a large, canvas bag.
Judy smiled and held up her bag. “Tools of the trade. Everything I need to cut and color your hair. I brought them with me when I left the Towers. Madge had called there and left a message with Penny so I’d know to come here instead of Mario’s. I stopped at the salon and got the hair dye. I looked up your color. Just in case,” she added. “Madge thought it was a good idea.”
Barbara ran her fingers through her hair and cringed. “I must look a sight to have everyone so concerned about my appearance. To be honest, I meant to call for an appointment. I just haven’t had the time or the…interest. I hate to be such a bother,” she insisted, although she would have liked nothing better than to have her hair done. “You’ve already had a long day.”
“It seems like every day is a long day.” Judy sighed. “I’m also getting used to sitting down to watch a little television at night and falling asleep before the second commercial. I can’t remember the last time I saw a show from beginning to end or had enough energy to stay awake long enough to dry the clothes I’d tossed into the washer.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’d forgotten how many clothes a young child can go through in a few days. Look, I completely understand. If you’re too tired right now, or you’d rather have Ann do your hair, just say so, and I’ll pack up.”
“No. Not at all. I just don’t want to impose. You’ve been on your feet all day.”
“And I’d better stay on my feet if I want to stay awake until Brian gets back from the puppet show,” Judy teased.
“Shall I set up in the kitchen? I’d rather not risk it here.”
Barbara laughed. “I could tell you stories about the havoc two little six-year-olds have managed to unleash in the past two months, but you probably have a good idea now that Brian is with you. You couldn’t possibly do any worse damage, but the kitchen would be better, I suppose.”
Barbara led Judy into the kitchen and pointed to the granite countertop where Judy set her canvas bag. She laid out a piece of heavy plastic and lined up several pairs of scissors next to familiar bottles of hair dye and conditioner. “We’ll color first and cut second, if that’s all right?”
“Sure.” Barbara pulled a low-backed chair away from the seventeenth-century farmer’s table she had found in an antique barn in Connecticut several years back and sat down.
Judy motioned her back up, laid another piece of plastic the size of a shower curtain on the tiled floor, carried the chair to the middle, and smiled. “That’s better. Now if any dye drops on the floor, it won’t matter. As you can see, I’ve been known to drop a little dye in the past.”
Barbara looked at the splotches that covered the drop cloth, cringed and sat down. While Judy fit a plastic cape around her shoulders, Barbara folded her hands on her lap and toyed with her wedding ring. “You seem to have this down to a real science.”
Judy laughed. “I’d better. I’ve been making house calls for twenty years or more. Most of the time they’re at the Towers. Ann and I both still have a few customers who live at home, but don’t go out much so we go to them. As a matter of fact, Ann was just at Alice Conner’s home.”
“How is Ann doing? The last time I was in the shop in the spring, she was just back from being home sick for a few weeks. Gout, wasn’t it?”
Judy nodded. “She’s been having a rough time of it for the last year or so.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman, other than Ann, who had gout. I thought that was something men got.”
“I think it is, but to hear Ann tell it, gout is just another surprise reserved for some very special postmenopausal women.” Judy chuckled. “And Ann is definitely a special woman, even though she isn’t very faithful about following the diet the doctor ordered or taking her medication. Once she feels better, she’s right back to her old habits, I’m afraid,” she admitted, and ran her fingers through Barbara’s shoulder-length hair.
Barbara
