Page 59 of Mountain Man Officer

When we came up for air, he stood, grabbed a shirt from the closet, and walked out of the room. I lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. For some reason, Jason leaving hit me harder than it should have. The man had to work, and he went to work every day. Why did today feel like the world was falling apart and being alone would kill me?

I grabbed my own phone, scrolling social media for a moment. It was only 7:30. There was plenty of time before I had to be at work myself. I wasn’t sleeping, and social media was toxic, so I crawled out of bed and put some clothes on. Pulling my hair up into a messy ponytail, I decided to unpack some of my hairstyling tools. Jason and I had agreed to share the office, but since he had moved in, I hadn’t taken advantage of my half of the space.

I pulled some boxes out of my closet and took them across the hall. Inside, I found three mannequin heads and a selection of wigs. There wasn’t a workstation for me in the office, and it took me a little bit of time and ingenuity to move the bedside table from my room. I wasn’t using it in the bedroom anyway.

I set up my foam heads and chose two of the wigs to work on. In the box, I had some styling equipment: comb, scissors, products, clips. I found some old dyes and shook them up. They seemed to be viable, so I put on my gloves and got to work dyeing one of the mannequin wigs.

When I was done, almost three hours had passed, and the wig was a beautiful, natural shade of gold. I snapped my gloves off just as the phone rang.

Picking it up, I discovered it was Macy. “Hello?”

“Hi, Lindsey,” Macy said. “I was wondering if I could come in for some highlights?”

“Sure thing,” I said. I was feeling a little dizzy from the chemical fumes, and I struggled to open the window while holding the phone in one hand. The window frame wouldn’t budge, so I set the phone down on Jason’s desk and pushed with both my hands. It slid up a crack, allowing the cool morning air to seep into my workspace. I picked the phone back up and found Macy talking. “What was that?” I asked.

“I was thinking about going lighter,” she repeated.

“I was just doing some experimenting with two different blondes,” I responded. “I think Honey Ash would work well with your features.”

“How early can I come in?” she asked. “I have a client this afternoon.”

“I’m at home,” I said. “I could meet you at the salon in half an hour.”

“Great. See you then,” Macy said before hanging up.

I shook my head to clear it. Get a grip, Lindsey. Whatever was going on in my head was interfering with my daily activities. I had thought that focusing on the hair coloring would help, but the fogginess followed me wherever I went. I sighed, doing my best to ignore it while I got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and drove into town.

I unlocked the salon a little early and was setting up my workspace when Macy arrived.

“Hi,” she tiptoed in. “Where’s everyone else?”

“We don’t open till eleven,” I said.

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Macy gasped.

“It’s fine,” I waved a hand to dismiss her concerns. “It’s just a half hour. I open early all the time for regular clients.”

“Okay,” she relented, hanging her purse on the hook beside the mirror. “I just want to look like I got some sun. It’s so hard to do with all those trees.”

I laughed. “Summer’s still a couple months away.”

“I know.” She settled down into my chair. “I’m sure you know now, there’s not a lot of sun in the forest any time of year.”

I circled her neck with the plastic bib and gave her a quick shampoo. I applied the bleach just like I had done on my wig back home, one clump at a time. Halfway through the process, I started feeling dizzy again. I thought it must be the same chemical fumes and tried to distance myself a little from the product. That was hard with the brush in my hair and standing over Macy. I felt sick. Through sheer force of will, I kept my cool until the last highlight was applied. Then I dropped my implements on the counter and raced for the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” Macy called after me, but I didn’t have time to respond.

I pulled my gloves off as I burst through the bathroom door, falling to my knees. It was like high school all over again, puking out my meager breakfast into the toilet, except this time I was sober. My stomach clenched and unclenched, sending tiny sparks of pain and anxiety coursing through my body. Then the moment passed, and I felt better.

I rose on shaky legs and washed my mouth out with water. Looking into the mirror, I saw a woman who was tired but not hideous. There were no bags under my eyes, no puffy lips or swollen glands. I wondered again if it was the chemical smell or if I was coming down with something. Maybe I should call in sick for the rest of the day, I thought. The problem was that I couldn’t sleep either, but at least work kept me occupied.

I cleaned myself up as well as I could and returned to the salon floor. Thankfully, it was still five minutes shy of eleven, and the other part-time girls hadn’t arrived yet. Macy looked up from a magazine as I entered the room. Her eyes were concerned and yet calm.

“Come sit with me,” she said.

“I should get the register set up.” I made to step past her, but she held up a hand.

“Just relax for a moment.”

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