It was all a little overwhelming, but I had to admit, it felt nice to be so easily accepted.
“Look at this hair.” Miss Shaw ran her fingers through my ponytail. “So thick and healthy.”
“Caroline owns a beauty salon,” Mrs. Birch interjected. “Pretty in Peach, right down on the dock. Beautiful location.”
“It used to be the only beauty salon on the island before those damn Montgomerys paid for their little girl to play hairdresser,” Miss Shaw shot back.
“The Montgomerys opened The Beauty Mark for their daughter Kendra after she was scandalized for promoting a diet pill that turned out to cause organ failure,” Mrs. Rojas explained, her tone hushed despite the twinkle in her eye at delivering the dramatic news.
I just smiled, not sure how to respond. My eyes shot to Mrs. B, hoping for a lifeline. I simply didn’t do well meeting new people, no matter how friendly and accepting they were.
“Be right back, I’m gonna go check on the pigs in a blanket!” Mrs. B called out, heading inside.
It looked like I was on my own.
“I can’t believe you’re really here. In the flesh!” Mrs. Birch exclaimed.
“Vera’s been telling us about you for years,” Miss Shaw added.
Vera?
Oh, she was talking about Mrs. B. It just dawned on me I’d never known Mrs. B’s first name. What did that say about me as a person? Who doesn’t know someone’s first name when that person was such a huge part of their life?
Apparently, moi.
Mrs. Rojas adjusted her black rimmed glasses as she looked me up and down. “We were beginning to think that you weren’t real.”
“I’m real.” It was the only response that came to mind.
“Well, I’m just sorry it took a health scare to get you here.” Miss Shaw took off her shawl and placed it on the back of one of the chairs.
The other two women stared at her in horror.
“Caroline,” Mrs. Birch whispered between clenched teeth, her smile still firmly in place. “Didn’t you read the text?”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought Mrs. Birch might be speaking like that because she thought I couldn’t hear her if her lips weren’t moving. Sort of a secret-telling twist on ventriloquism?
“What text?” Miss Shaw asked.
Neither Mrs. Rojas or Mrs. Birch answered, they just continued staring sugar-coated daggers at her.
“Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just look for myself.” Miss Shaw pulled a phone and reading glasses out of what I could only assume was her knitting bag, as it had the words, “I Knit Shit,” emblazoned in bold lettering across it.
She put the phone up to her face then moved it away, before bringing it back about half the distance. As she read, her brows furrowed but then her face relaxed and her lips made an O shape. “Ohhhhhh…I see.”
That was it. No other explanation. She put both the glasses and the phone in her bag.
Before my “health scare,” I would have politely sat and let that entire scene go by without comment. But that wasn’t me anymore. “See what?”
“Nothing.” Mrs. Birch answered, the words coming out as a high-pitched squeak.
My eyes bounced between all three women until one of them spoke.
“It was a message from Vera.” Mrs. Rojas leaned forward and patted my hand. “She didn’t want us mentioning…you know.”
“My diagnosis.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Hey, the way I see it, everyone’s dying. My Albert was told he had six months, and that stubborn SOB lasted nine years. No one knows when the good Lord is gonna call them home.” Mrs. Rojas squeezed my hand before turning toward Miss Shaw and covering her hand. “And then there was your Henry.”