Free Artichoke's Heart by Suzanne Supplee

stump or a barrel. She was also middle-aged and “poorly styled,” as Richard would say. Her clothes weren’t awful, at least not awful for old lady clothes, but they were wrinkled, as if plucked from the hamper instead of the closet.

    “You want to leave everything up to me?” Mother asked, her face stretching into a smile. Mother loves it when clients leave everything up to her.

    “Do whatever you want, just not too fussy,” said the woman, pointing her finger at Mother. “I have three kids and a fourth one they call a husband. I don’t have time for too much girly stuff.”

    Mother went to work. The color was a light honey brown with a few highlights mixed in the front. The cut was like something off Style Network—a classic but slightly modernized bob with a few wispy bangs. “Now don’t style your bob under,” Mother shouted as she blow-dried. “Flip it out this way, so it looks more stylish. It’s easier to turn it out than under, and it makes all the difference in how the cut looks.”

    “Sure thing,” the woman agreed. Her face was brighter, and I could tell she liked what Mother had done. Without getting in Mother’s way, I swept hair out from underneath the chair.

    “I wouldn’t go more than six weeks on the color,” Mother went on. “If you touch up those highlights they’ll last a lot longer. You’ll need a trim by then, too, if you want to keep the style.”

    “Oh, I’ll keep it up,” said the woman. “That was my New Year’s resolution, to look better, to take better care of myself .”

    “I know I’ve seen you over at the Piggly Wiggly,” said Mother. “I apologize for not knowing your name.”

    “Oh, honey, I wouldn’t expect you to know my name. Of course, everybody in town knows yours. Why, every person I asked said the same thing. ‘Go see Rose Warren Goode over at Heavenly Hair. She’ll fix you right up.’ ” Mother smiled, although people were always saying things like that about Mother. “I’m Roberta Cox,” said the woman. Right away, my ears perked up at the last name. “Husband’s Fred. He owns the lumberyard out on the Nashville Highway.”

    “Oh, of course,” said Mother. “When I did some work on my house, that’s where I bought the lumber. A very fair place,” said Mother. “You have boys, don’t you?”

    “Three,” said Mrs. Cox. “Kyle, Chris, and Kirk. Sixteen, thirteen, and ten.”

    I nearly dropped my broom.

    “They play football, don’t they?” I was always amazed at the number of details Mother kept stored in her brain. I fought back the urge to squeeze Mrs. Cox and introduce myself as her future daughter-in-law. Instead, I memorized her every detail.

    “Oh, they all play everything,” Mrs. Cox went on. “The oldest one, Kyle, is the one in the papers all the time. He could use a social life. For him it’s sports and nothing else. I keep telling him to find a nice girl to go with, but nobody listens to me.”

    Sweat prickled under my arms. My cheeks felt red. I couldn’t decide if I wanted Mother to introduce me or not. Finally, I decided not . I slipped off to the back room where I could still hear and see, but not be heard or seen. From behind the curtain, I scrutinized the woman who had given birth to Kyle Cox.

    In a strange way, I was thankful she was frumpy and kind of overweight and wrinkled. Maybe Kyle wasn’t too picky about physical things. Maybe that was why he gave me nanosecond smiles. He was used to a big woman, after all.

chapter eleven

    The Perfect Shade of Blue

    Since Thursday, I’ve had nine Pounds-Away shakes, two Pounds-Away protein bars (Darlene -Charmaine talked me into buying them), and absolutely nothing else. This morning when I stepped on the scale, I’d lost a whopping five pounds. If a tornado ripped smack through my bedroom, I might actually move an inch or two.

    I think Mother is feeling the effects of the chemo. This morning, when I asked her how she was, she smiled and said fine