Each time I sat on my porch after a shift, I wished for the sound of Kael’s truck to rumble onto my street. The sun and the moon changed places, again and again, day after day, and I checked my phone too often, hoping for a word from him, but nothing came. I had told him to leave me alone, so what did I expect? I wondered if I should text or call him, but I couldn’t lose the last little bit of pride I had by reaching out first. It wasn’t that I was playing hard to get, I just didn’t know what the hell to say even if I did. Was he already tired of chasing me? Did I want him to chase me? No, I answered my own question. I wanted him to find me and keep me; that was the problem. Life was just complicated now.
I was booked to work most of the day and evening. I welcomed the distraction and the Sriracha noodles that Mali brought for me and Elodie. Elodie kept hiccupping, claiming the noodles weren’t too spicy as her nose ran and her eyes watered. After her shift she was going to an FRG meeting and a weekend cookout; I was glad that she was keeping busy lately, especially since she wasn’t hearing from Phillip enough.
The first appointment of my shift was Stewart, and I was so relieved to find her already checked in by Mali and lying facedown, asleep, on the treatment bed when I entered the room. Without having to make conversation, my thoughts roamed back to Kael. What was he doing right now? How was his discharge going, or did he lose it because of the incident with my brother? The thought made me feel sick.
My workday progressed uneventfully, but my mind was doing laps, trying to solve the puzzle of my confusion over Kael. I went through the list of pros and cons—what was right and what was wrong about him—and only felt more indecisive. Maybe there was more to the story than I allowed Kael to explain? I considered texting him to see if he was busy, to see if he still wanted a chance to explain himself, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had three appointments left, and after giving the first two clients their treatments, I typed a text to Kael and deleted it, typed and deleted again, then tossed my phone into the drawer where I kept the dry towels.
After the last client, I retrieved the phone from the drawer and typed the text to Kael again. Something simple and not desperate, I reminded myself. I just wanted to know if he was really going to lose his discharge, that was it. Mostly.
Hey, do you want to come over after work today? I get off in an hour. No pressure.
Before I could stop myself again, I sent it, and before I could hide my phone the little typing bubbles on Kael’s side appeared. I held my breath and they disappeared. I waited a few more seconds and nothing came. Great, now I look even more like an idiot. I shouldn’t have texted him. I definitely, certainly, surely, truly shouldn’t have fucking texted him. Even if he was nice to my brother.
I was so glad this long day of work was finally ending. Other than my scheduled appointments, the salon had been slow all day. I was the only one with evening clients, and I agreed to close up. There were no more clients on the schedule sheet, and I doubted anyone would be walking past the mostly-closed stores within the next twenty minutes, so I straightened up my room for the night and got stuff ready for the morning. The cleaning company had been in the prior evening and everything was in pretty good shape. I just had to organize a few things and make sure all the candles were out and clean towels were stocked. I turned the lights off, one by one, before locking the back door—padlock, too—and shutting off the front desk light.
When I saw a shadow approach the entrance, I practically jumped out of my skin. I think I may have screamed a little, too. I stood still, trying to catch my breath and slow my heart rate. The shadow moved closer into view, and that’s when I saw that it was a man—a young one, but not a boy. Maybe a soldier, given the haircut. It was a little late for someone to just pass by. And I didn’t recognize him, which made me uneasy.
I had been alone in the spa at night only a few times and it was always fine, but for some reason, this man gave me the chills. He tugged at the door and I stepped into view, flicking the reception area lamp back on. I turned the flashlight off on my phone and kept a little distance from the door.
“Hey, sorry, are you closed?” he mouthed through the glass door. His voice was friendly enough.
“Yeah, we are.”
“Oh, sorry. I think I did something to my back during PT and was hoping you guys would still be open. Do you know anywhere else around here that’s open late?”
He seemed legit, friendly enough, and I immediately felt guilty for the way my imagination had instantly conjured up the worst-case scenario. I’d had a rough week and was obviously still a little wonky. I smiled at him to make myself feel better about branding him as a serial killer. I wasn’t going to stay for another hour—even though we really did need the business, and lord knows I really needed the money. Instead, I opened the door slightly and proposed a compromise.
“I don’t think anyone is going to be open past nine, but if you want to come in first thing in the morning I could be here extra-early,” I offered. I wasn’t just saying it to get the business; nothing except Walmart and fast food joints were open late in this town.
“I think I can get out of PT in the morning. Can I come in and put my name down?”
“Sure.”
The man stepped inside and looked into my eyes. It was a little off-putting, but honest, too, in a strange sort of way. He followed me to the desk, and I grabbed the paper version of the schedule, since I had already shut the computer down. I looked at my day tomorrow.
“I have a ten-o’clock opening and a twelve, but I could come in at nine or eight thirty for you, since you came all this way tonight,” I told him.
“Let’s do eight thirty so it will be extra-quiet in here.” He turned to look at the hours of operation painted on the front door in clear white letters.
“Okay.” I swallowed. “Eight thirty it is. Can I have your name, please?”
“Nielson,” he told me. I wrote it down. It sounded familiar, but I knew I had never seen his face before. I knew faces.
“Are you . . . you know, going to give me that kind of massage?” His voice crawled over me like tiny little spiders.
My stomach dropped. “What did you just say?” I snapped. I looked at the camera again, this time in a really obvious way. This time he noticed.
I wanted to throw up. I wanted to run. But I reached deep for my courage and held my ground.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I said, as firmly as possible. Then I reached for the landline and lifted it halfway to my ear.
He gestured in mock surrender, smirking. I thought I saw a flash of metal in the back of his jaw when he laughed. “I’m joking! Sorry, bad joke. Sorry, sorry.” He held his hands up. “No harm done.”
I stared at him silently, not lowering the phone, and hoping he couldn’t see my hand shaking or the way my knuckles were stretched and white, holding on to the phone as tightly as I could. It had been a while since someone made an offensive comment like that, and I didn’t find it funny, at all. After the longest few seconds of my life, he retreated, walking backward, keeping his eyes on me as he moved toward the front door.
Those icy blue eyes and taut pale skin were much more threatening now that he had been so inappropriate.