Eden

 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Allie stared wide-eyed across the table from me in the school cafeteria on Monday. We’d gone back to sitting alone at our old table this year. Without Connor around with his friends, Allie and I were fine with slipping back into relative obscurity. There were still girls who could be incredibly cruel to Allie because of her long-distance relationship with Connor. She so did not need daily battering of her confidence in Connor’s ability to stay true to her while he was attending college.

I shook my head. “Serious as a heart attack.”

“Well, what did it say?” The look on Allie’s face was almost comical, a blend of excited, amused, and stunned.

“I didn’t open it,” I answered, shrugging with a nonchalance I didn’t feel.

Allie’s mouth dropped open. “Holy-,” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “No way. How could you resist? Aren’t you curious? I mean, I’m dying, and I just found out about it three seconds ago. How did you survive the whole weekend without opening it? Oh my gosh, without reading it? Eden!” My best friend looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

“Calm down, Al!” We were drawing attention.

“Calm down! How can I calm down? I haven’t stopped thinking about what you told me about you and Dylan since you told me. It’s kind of romantic, right? Older guy, younger woman. A soldier going off to war-”

“He just went to basic training, Allie.”

“Still.” Allie shook her head, thinking about it. We ate in silence. Then, as if she just couldn’t let it go, Allie asked, “What if he changed his mind? What if he still loves you? And he wants to try again?”

I rolled my eyes, hoping she couldn’t see in them the pain her words caused me. “I never said he loved me. And I’d be stark raving mad to ever fall for Dylan Coulter again. It’s like I’ve always said- hating him is the only way.”

Allie huffed, falling back against her chair. “You don’t hate Dylan.” She shook her head. “I’ve never believed that.”

Maybe Allie was right but that didn’t mean I had to read Dylan’s letter. Instead, I’d tucked it in my nightstand and tried to forget it was even there.

That was easier said than done.

 

The week flew by in a flurry of homework, hanging out with Allie, and working at the salon. Those ladies had become my rocks over the last two years. I loved my own mother, but she could rarely be counted on for a heart-to-heart. Judy and the other ladies were really good at filling in the gaps.

Saturday mornings were one of my favorite times at the salon, even though I did have to get up early. They were also the busiest day of the week. All the women who didn’t have time during the week for some much-needed personal maintenance flooded through Judy’s doors for cuts, styles, colors, waxing, and nails. I spent my day flying from the phone to refilling each stylist’s stations with product and towels and whatever else they might need. Oh, and sweeping. I swept up oceans of cut hair. And all the while, I grew friendships I knew would last me a lifetime.

Which was how I ended up in almost an identical conversation to the one I’d had with Allie, with Judy and Mrs. Timmons. Mrs. Timmons was an elderly lady. She was eighty if she was a day, with snowy white hair clipped close to her scalp, but left long enough for Judy to set with perfect little curls all over. Mrs. Timmons had a standing appointment every Saturday morning at eight o’clock. Her son, a man in his fifties, dropped her off before going to get a donut and coffee across the street. He picked her up exactly an hour later, helping her to his car with a gentle hand on her elbow and slow steps. She was just adorable.

“There’s our sweet girl, Judy,” Mrs. Timmons said as I cleaned the mirror at the station beside Judy’s. I met her gaze in Judy’s mirror with a smile that broadened when she winked at me.

“How are you doing this morning, Mrs. Timmons,” I asked politely- and loudly- Mrs. Timmons had a bit of a hearing problem.

“Can’t complain,” she replied with an innocent little shrug, but I knew better. “But since you asked, my hip’s been botherin’ me some and the doctor said I’ve got the glaucoma. I tripped over the dad-burned cat on Wednesday and had to use that silly button Dalton makes me wear around my neck since last summer when I fell down the step to the patio. It was just like those commercials ‘I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up’, I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life. It was worth it though when a hunk of a fireman came by to rescue me.”

“Mrs. T,” I exclaimed with a giggle, sharing a look with Judy over the old lady’s head.

The little lady shrugged again. “Well, I may be eighty-four years old, missy, but I ain’t dead yet. And that man was a fine specimen.” Mrs. Timmons turned her head to look at me for real and not in the mirror.

“Betty!” Judy squawked, releasing the curling iron before burning Mrs. Timmons head.

“Should I get your number, Eden honey? So, I can give it to that nice fireman?” Mrs. Timmons eyes twinkled with mischief while I stood there stunned.

I’d reached a new low when I needed a great-granny to hook me up with a date.

“Betty, she’s only eighteen. Hasn’t even graduated high school yet.” Judy shook her head, but I knew her well enough to know she was holding back a laugh.

Mrs. Timmons gave her a scolding look in the mirror. “Eighteen’s plenty old enough. Goodness, I was married with a baby on my hip by nineteen. I say this girl’s behind the eight ball.”

Shaking my head and fighting a blush, I picked up the glass cleaner and paper towel and moved to the mirror on the other side of Judy’s station.

“Eden here’s got herself a soldier she’s pining after,” Judy confided.

I gasped. “Judy! I do not.” I had to set my supplies down again to regain my composure.

Judy ignored me. “Won’t even look at another boy. Hasn’t for years.”

Mrs. Timmons gave me a knowing look. “True love. Must be true love or she would have moved on by now.”

“I’m right here, you know,” I said, exasperated with both of them. “And I do not love him.”

“Couldn’t even get her to go out with my grandson and according to Candy’s granddaughter he’s hot like Shawn Mendes. Whoever that is,” Judy continued as though I hadn’t said anything, her voice coming through a fog of hair spray.

Mrs. Timmons turned to face me again, forcing Judy and her curling iron to take a break. “Well, what happened with this young man, dear?”

I gazed between the two of them. We were the only ones in the salon this early. The next client wouldn’t be in until nine. Judy watched me, her expression a mix of love and compassion, while Mrs. Timmons’s was more curiosity and determination.

Judy already knew the whole story, although I hadn’t told her about the new letter from Dylan. I’d confided in her one evening late when we were the only two in the salon. She’d been cutting my hair and I tell you, the woman was talented at getting you to spill your guts.

I shrugged. “He joined the Army. End of story.”

Judy scowled and got back to work with her curling iron. “Not the end of the story. She was madly in love with him-”

I had to snort at that. But that didn’t stop Judy.

“And he with her-”

I snorted again- louder. Judy shot me a look.

“He left, and they exchanged letters. He’s older than her, you see. And her brother’s best friend.” Judy talked, gesturing with the wand in her hand the whole time. Mrs. Timmons listened with rapt attention.

“So, what happened,” the older lady asked.

“Nothing happened. He told me he didn’t want anything to do with me and I haven’t heard from or seen him since.”

I got back to work. Judy and Mrs. Timmons were quiet for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. I knew Judy wanted to wring Dylan’s neck for hurting me back then and I could see by the look on her face, she still felt that way. Mrs. Timmons, though, wore a thoughtful expression.

It was a while before anyone spoke again.

“You know, dear, something like that happened to me when I was about your age.” The older lady paused, and I watched as she twisted the wedding band she still wore on her left finger even though I knew her husband had been gone more than fifteen years. “My Paul was quite a few years older than me, ten years, in fact. I met him when I was fourteen and he was twenty-four.” Mrs. Timmons grinned, the wrinkles in her face scrunching like an accordion around her mouth and eyes. “Laws, that man.” She fanned herself with her hand. “I’d never seen a more handsome man in all my young life. He’d been home for two years from the War and was going to school. He worked summers for my daddy at his law firm. Let me tell you, I developed a deep and abiding interest in the law.”

“Betty!” Judy exclaimed with wide eyes and I couldn't stop my giggle. I could just picture this little old lady as a fourteen-year-old manslayer. Mr. Timmons never stood a chance!

“Oh, you!” Mrs. Timmons shooed Judy’s censorship aside. “It took me four years to convince him, but I did and by the time I was eighteen I had that man in front of the preacher.”

I watched mesmerized by the story she wove as Mrs. Timmons wiped a tear from beneath her faded eye.

“Fifty-one years we were married before I lost him. It was worth every moment of those four years waiting for him to catch up.” Mrs. Timmons winked at me in the mirror.

“That’s an amazing story. Thank you for sharing it with me,” I told her sincerely.

“I didn’t just tell you a happy story, young lady!” Mrs. Timmons turned from the mirror to look at me for real. “I told you to give you hope. Men are idiots sometimes. And I’m betting your soldier just suffered from a moment of stupidity when he told you he didn’t want to keep up his communications with you.”

I thought about what she was saying. “If that’s true, then why hasn’t he reached out since then?” He’s had all of two years and five months to do so.

“Like I said, some men are idiots. Sounds like yours has a stronger case than most. Yes, ma’am. Stupid and scared. That’s what ails your young man, mark my words.” Mrs. Timmons gave me a sharp nod, confident in her assessment of a man she’d never even met.

“Scared?” I couldn’t help but ask for clarification. What did Dylan have to be afraid of?

“Of course, he’s scared! He knows he hurt you. What hope does he have that a beautiful young woman like you will ever forgive him?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but just then Ms. Shalto blew through the door. Without even a hello, she went into a long-winded diatribe about her boyfriend, a high-powered businessman who lived in the city and how he refused to consider living in our smaller town if they were to get married.

“How can I hope to marry him if he won’t even consider a compromise,” she wailed.

How indeed?