Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
If Scarlet were here, she’d grumble about how her mother makes everything about physical appeal and sex. I can’t blame her. Having Dottie as a mother, with all the drama that came along with her, couldn’t have been easy. She had Scarlet when she was just fifteen—a knockout even back then, based on old pictures. And she used those good looks and charm to lasso plenty of men around town over the years. Some of those men had gold bands on their ring fingers.
But Dottie isn’t my mother, and I find her sordid humor, morally gray life choices, and her complete lack of inhibition refreshing. She’s not a mean-spirited woman; she just focuses more on what she wants, rather than what’s acceptable by society’s standards.
I miss having her around the house for those brief few weeks after Brillcourt burned down and before she moved into her new apartment. It’s why I make a point of stopping by the little hole-in-the-wall hair salon every so often.
“So, how are things going with the fire chief?” According to Scarlet, Dottie’s never been good at any sort of relationship, short or long term. It’s been years since she had a meaningful one, too preoccupied with keeping her seat warm at the local pub. But her barfly days seem to be waning. The Route 66 bartender was worried enough to ask Scarlet if something had happened to her. He hadn’t seen her around town.
Turns out, something did happen: sobriety, and a kindly widower who treats her better than any of the other men she’s invited into her life.
“Oh, they’re going.” She winks, smoothing her hands over her fitted leopard-print skirt. It’s a rare thing to see Dottie in anything that doesn’t hug her curves and show off some cleavage. “What about you? I read that article in the newspaper. You’re locking horns with that big developer, huh?”
We almost locked other body parts, but I know not to utter a word about that to Dottie—it’d be spread across Polson Falls by nightfall.
The doorbell chimes before I can answer, and in strolls Shane’s eleven-year-old son, Cody, and his mother, Penelope.
More aptly named the Red Devil, not only for her gorgeous mane of red locks but for the many years of hell she put Scarlet through. It’s only been a few months since she’s eased up, after her jealous rage over Scarlet nearly cost her everything. Things have been awkwardly civil since then, and Scarlet has made me promise not to provoke her with my flippant remarks.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in! Did you grow since I last saw you?” Dottie’s sultry smile softens, her eyes tentative as they flicker between Cody and Penelope.
Cody’s cheeks flush as he pushes a hand across his forehead. “I dunno. Maybe?”
“I think you did. And it looks like you could use another haircut.”
“Yeah, I liked how you did it last time, when my dad brought me.”
“Shorter on the sides, though,” Penelope says in a crisp voice. Oh, she must have hated hearing that Shane brought Cody here, to the woman who so long ago had an affair with her father.
“Mom.” Cody scowls at her. “Even Dad said it looked better how she did it. I want it like that again. Just like that.”
“As long as your father approves.” Penelope huffs. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” So we can get out of this dive, she doesn’t have to say out loud. Her sneer at the ’80s perm poster on the wall says it for her. I will give her credit, though—the fact that she brought Cody here, to the woman she spent decades blaming for her father’s infidelities, shows she can put her son’s wishes over her bitterness, even if she’s going to bitch about it.
Kind of like I am willing to stand up for my brother at his wedding, despite having to look Bastard Bill in the eye.
“Hey, Justine.” Cody smiles shyly at me on his way to the chair.
“Hey, kid.” I’ve never gone out of my way to spend time with anyone’s child, but this one, I like. “When are we going to have a Spider-Man rematch?”
Cody grins. “Next weekend?”
“Good, ’cause I’ve been practicing with Dean, and I’m gonna kick your ass.”
He giggles. He always giggles when I curse in front of him, which, according to Scarlet, is way too much.
“He’s eleven.” Penelope shoots me a pointed glare before heading to a chair in the waiting area.
With her back to me, I mouth a quick prayer while pretending to sprinkle holy water to expel the demon, earning Dottie’s snort-cough.
“Speaking of that developer, he came by here the other day.” Ann Margaret, the owner of Elite Cuts and a saint for putting up with Dottie, collects her customer’s hair between two fingers before snipping at it. “I can’t recall his name.”