Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
I kept my face blank even as a chill worked down my spine. “Rowdy’s crazy for sure, but the others don’t seem so bad.”
“Good. That means you haven’t gotten on their bad side.” I felt the hair on my nape stand up because I knew that was where I’d eventually land when they found out I not only came to Idlewild to find them but that I was carrying around a picture of them from twenty years ago. “Rowdy’s different,” the hairdresser continued. “He basically wakes up on the wrong side of the bed every day. He’s got a thorn in his paw, and everyone’s too scared to rip it out.”
“And he just doesn’t give a fuck.” It made him more dangerous than the others.
“Nope,” the hairdresser agreed with a pop of her glossy lips. “God definitely lost a screw or two when He made that one.” Her eyes widened in mock horror, making me chuckle. When she smiled, her deep dimples became even more prominent. “So here’s the thing,” she said while handing me a white slip of paper. It was a new client intake form. “I don’t do walk-ins, but I’ve got fifteen minutes until my next client arrives. I can do a free consultation to assess your hair’s needs, and then we can book an appointment if you’d like.”
“Sounds good.”
“Great! Oh, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Atlas,” I offered.
“Nice to meet you, Atlas. I’m Demetria, but everyone calls me Demi. Follow me.”
Even though my hair was the least of my worries, I followed her. Demi had a sincerity that I desperately needed, so I found myself wanting to spend more time in the hairdresser’s company. Besides my coworkers and the twins, who I hadn’t seen or talked to since I fled their house Saturday morning, I didn’t know anyone in Idlewild. Loneliness was the most silent killer of all.
I also wasn’t ready to go back to the shop if it meant Rowdy wasn’t done with me today. Sending me to get his lunch was just another form of torture, and I was going to crawl, not run toward it.
I followed Demi to her chair and let her appraise the faux locs I’d gotten a month ago. On top of being kind, she had gentle hands and seemed knowledgeable, so I booked an appointment for Saturday to have the outer rim re-twisted. Demi had an opening sooner, but my funds were funny, and I wouldn’t receive my first paycheck until the end of the week.
My stomach growled as I left, so I caved to the inevitable and walked over to Fred’s two buildings over. The bell above the door chimed as I entered the restaurant. The inside was small, with only a handful of tables, a drink station, and one of those bubble gum machines in the dining area. The black and white checkered floor was dingy but clean according to the Wet Floor sign by the door, and the strong Pine-Sol smell wafting from the peeling tile.
I could hear “Family Affair” by Mary J. Blige playing faintly from the speakers as I approached the empty counter and rang the silver bell resting on top.
A moment later, a tall, lanky black man in his fifties wearing a hair net appeared.
“Welcome to Fred’s, young lady. What can I get you?”
I wordlessly pulled Rowdy’s lunch order from my pocket and stared at it for half a beat before handing it over. I figured it was better to hand over Tuesday’s directions than to repeat Rowdy’s neurosis aloud and offend a perfect stranger.
To my surprise, the cook didn’t seem surprised at all. He read it over, and then I could feel him sizing me up as he handed it back to me. “You must be the new receptionist.” He chuckled when I gaped. “I’m Fred. Cook and owner.”
Fred held out his hand, so I shook it. “Atlas.”
“Take a load off, Atlas, and I’ll have Rowdy’s order right out.”
I offered him a grateful smile that was small but felt genuine. “Thanks.”
“You don’t have any stops to make after this, do you?” When I frowned, he held up his hands and added, “Rowdy likes his food piping hot. Don’t want to have to make it over when he sends you back.” He leaned forward. “And trust me, girl…he will.”
Cracking up, Fred slapped his leg when my lips parted in disbelief. Wow.
“Nope. This is it,” I assured him.
“All righty. Should be ready in ten minutes.”
I popped a squat while Fred disappeared inside the kitchen. There was a narrow opening in the wall with a ledge, which allowed me to see his head and shoulders as he moved around. Moments later, the sound of oil crackling drifted into the dining area.
The phone rang off the hook, but Fred never stopped preparing Rowdy’s food, even once, to answer. I cringed, wondering if he was missing potential orders.