will be over for the year. What will I do with myself then?” Olivia’s gentle snoring further relaxed her.
“Well, you can spoil your niece some more, if that’s possible. More importantly, you can learn to love yourself. Start demanding respect from others. If a man puts you down, ditch him.”
She shook her head, recalling Barclay’s snide remarks. “At that rate, I’ll never have anyone.”
“A man will treat you the way you demand to be treated. Set the ground rules. Let him know you won’t put up with his crap. You deserve someone who will cherish you. There’s a man out there just wondering where you are. Just waiting for you.”
****
The next morning, Hope stumbled into her bathroom and nearly shrieked at her reflection. A severe case of bed-head, swollen eyes from crying, and a zit blooming like an oriental poppy on her nose greeted her. Thank God this was the start of Memorial Day weekend. No second graders making demands today.
An hour later, she stepped into A Touch of Grace, her sister’s salon. An elderly customer walked around with baby Olivia. Hope went over to her. “Would you hand me my niece, please. I need some sugar slobbers.” Olivia, drooling a smile, leaned toward Hope, her chubby arms outstretched.
Gracie glanced at them over a blonde whose hair she was cutting. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today, sis. How’re you feeling?”
Hope shrugged, kissed Olivia’s forehead, and inhaled baby powder and lotion. “Rotten.”
Her sister turned to the older woman who’d been holding the baby a few seconds earlier. “The guy she was dating broke up with her yesterday. In a text. Can you believe it?”
“No!” Both the blonde in the chair and the elderly woman chimed in unison. A prime session of male bashing began, and for once Hope was more than happy to join in.
A few minutes later Gracie tugged the rubber band from Hope’s ponytail, asking her customers what they thought she should do with her sister’s hair. Gracie insisted a new hairdo would lift Hope’s spirits. The women offered ideas. They debated. They collaborated. For just an instant, Hope wanted to dash out the door. Instead, she stayed, enjoying the impromptu sisterhood that warmed her battered spirit. The collective power of any group of women had the ability to heal and support…and to persuade.
Perhaps they persuaded too well.
Hope sat in her car staring in the sun visor’s mirror. How had she allowed her sister and two strangers to talk her into such a radical change? She’d walked into Gracie’s beauty shop with her long mousy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and walked out with short, spiky red hair. She picked at the gelled strands sticking up every which way. Turning her head from side to side, she tried to assess the change. She’d gone from harried school teacher to wide-eyed perky in the span of a few scissor snips. Oh, this is so not me.
The exit to the Mall of Louisiana was closed, so Hope took the next one, planning to circle back toward the shopping center. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had lunch, and she promised herself something decadent at one of the mall’s eateries. Now that she didn’t have to watch her diet to impress a man, she could indulge.
A few turns later, she was lost. Somehow she’d gotten confused in this Baton Rouge neighborhood. Her stomach rumbled louder and she wished she were home, lying under the ceiling fan, reading That Dating Thing , which she’d started BBB—Before Barclay’s Breakup.
She braked for the light. There was a laundromat with dingy windows on her side of the street, and across the corner was a coffee shop, a great place to ask for directions. When the light changed, she eased her compact car into a parking space along the street. She hopped out and dashed through the break in traffic.
Freya’s Coffee Shop looked out of place among the four-storied red-brick buildings that hugged the sidewalk. This yellow stone structure sat beyond a
“Well, you can spoil your niece some more, if that’s possible. More importantly, you can learn to love yourself. Start demanding respect from others. If a man puts you down, ditch him.”
She shook her head, recalling Barclay’s snide remarks. “At that rate, I’ll never have anyone.”
“A man will treat you the way you demand to be treated. Set the ground rules. Let him know you won’t put up with his crap. You deserve someone who will cherish you. There’s a man out there just wondering where you are. Just waiting for you.”
****
The next morning, Hope stumbled into her bathroom and nearly shrieked at her reflection. A severe case of bed-head, swollen eyes from crying, and a zit blooming like an oriental poppy on her nose greeted her. Thank God this was the start of Memorial Day weekend. No second graders making demands today.
An hour later, she stepped into A Touch of Grace, her sister’s salon. An elderly customer walked around with baby Olivia. Hope went over to her. “Would you hand me my niece, please. I need some sugar slobbers.” Olivia, drooling a smile, leaned toward Hope, her chubby arms outstretched.
Gracie glanced at them over a blonde whose hair she was cutting. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today, sis. How’re you feeling?”
Hope shrugged, kissed Olivia’s forehead, and inhaled baby powder and lotion. “Rotten.”
Her sister turned to the older woman who’d been holding the baby a few seconds earlier. “The guy she was dating broke up with her yesterday. In a text. Can you believe it?”
“No!” Both the blonde in the chair and the elderly woman chimed in unison. A prime session of male bashing began, and for once Hope was more than happy to join in.
A few minutes later Gracie tugged the rubber band from Hope’s ponytail, asking her customers what they thought she should do with her sister’s hair. Gracie insisted a new hairdo would lift Hope’s spirits. The women offered ideas. They debated. They collaborated. For just an instant, Hope wanted to dash out the door. Instead, she stayed, enjoying the impromptu sisterhood that warmed her battered spirit. The collective power of any group of women had the ability to heal and support…and to persuade.
Perhaps they persuaded too well.
Hope sat in her car staring in the sun visor’s mirror. How had she allowed her sister and two strangers to talk her into such a radical change? She’d walked into Gracie’s beauty shop with her long mousy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and walked out with short, spiky red hair. She picked at the gelled strands sticking up every which way. Turning her head from side to side, she tried to assess the change. She’d gone from harried school teacher to wide-eyed perky in the span of a few scissor snips. Oh, this is so not me.
The exit to the Mall of Louisiana was closed, so Hope took the next one, planning to circle back toward the shopping center. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had lunch, and she promised herself something decadent at one of the mall’s eateries. Now that she didn’t have to watch her diet to impress a man, she could indulge.
A few turns later, she was lost. Somehow she’d gotten confused in this Baton Rouge neighborhood. Her stomach rumbled louder and she wished she were home, lying under the ceiling fan, reading That Dating Thing , which she’d started BBB—Before Barclay’s Breakup.
She braked for the light. There was a laundromat with dingy windows on her side of the street, and across the corner was a coffee shop, a great place to ask for directions. When the light changed, she eased her compact car into a parking space along the street. She hopped out and dashed through the break in traffic.
Freya’s Coffee Shop looked out of place among the four-storied red-brick buildings that hugged the sidewalk. This yellow stone structure sat beyond a
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