Free Not Your Everyday Housewife by Mary Campisi

It’ll be quick and easy, you’ll see.” Derry downplayed it, but from the back, Shea’s red hair seeped through the black dye like a net.
    “No thank you. I think I’ll find a professional to take care of it.”
    “Fine.” Derry shrugged. “If you want to trust a stranger rather than your friend, go for it.”
    “You are not a cosmetologist,” Shea reminded her. “If you were, you would have known how much goop to put on my hair.”
    “We were working in the bathroom sink of a motel, remember? Not exactly a lot of room, and we were pressed for time. I’ve dyed my hair hundreds of times and never had a problem.”
    “Well, this time you did.”
    “So fine, we’ll ask Tula Rae the name of a salon for you.”
    “Tula Rae? What’s that?”
    “It’s the name of the owner of The Bird’s Nest.”
    “I think I’ll just trust the phone book,” Shea said, falling back into her seat with a sigh.
    ***
    “Name’s Tula Rae, girls.” The wiry creature with the gray braid trailing half way down her back hefted Shea’s luggage from the trunk with one hand. “Born in Mayesville, South Carolina, lived here since 1955 when I came with my first husband, Eddie Mame.” She grabbed one of Cyn’s bags and trekked up the front steps, talking over her shoulder in a deep Southern accent, “We was one of the first mixed couples to settle in Ogunquit.” She grinned at the women behind her, revealing the huge gap between her front teeth. “Tula Rae’s always giving them something to talk about, most times something to think about, too.”
    Shea hoisted her suitcase up another stone step, trailing after the spitfire who referred to herself in third person. The woman was all legs and arms, no chest, with a little potbelly sticking out of her spandex shorts. Years of weathering and New England winds had wrinkled her skin to a crisp, raisin brown.
    “There’s four bedrooms upstairs,” she said, pointing to a stairway in front of them. “This here’s the parlor, where you can entertain guests. That room to the left is the living room. It’s got a television but we got no cable and no remote. I like to say that straight up because too many people depend on a remote control like it’s part of their body. One couple refused to stay here on account of that.”
    “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that,” Cyn assured her.
    “I sure as to God, hope not. This town’s got more to see than years to see it in. How long will ya’ll be staying?”
    “Four weeks,” Derry said, “give or take a day or two.”
    “Fine by me.” Tula Rae nodded her head and continued, “Kitchen’s in through there, three meals a day. Anything else you want, you got to buy it yourself, and do your own dishes.”
    “Do we get a key to the house?” Shea checked the door on the way in and it was awful flimsy with no deadbolt.
    “A key? Tula Rae ain’t locked her door since she and Eddie moved here in 1955.”
    “This isn’t 1955 anymore, Ms. Rae,” Shea said. “I think you need a lock.”
    “Never been necessary.”
    “Well, I expect a lock for my bedroom door then.”
    “Jumpy one, ain’t you? Honey, we don’t lock doors—house, bedroom, bathroom, we don’t lock doors.”
    Derry jumped in. “It’s fine, Ms. Rae. May I call you Tula?”
    “Call me Tula or Tula Rae, either’s fine by me.” She eyed Shea, tapped a bony finger to her chin. “This here town’s a place to settle down and relax. If you can’t do it here, you won’t find a stretch a land anywhere in the U S of A where you can do it.”
    Shea turned away, pretending she didn’t know Tula Rae was talking to her.
    “That’s some hairdo you got, missy,” the older woman cackled. “I seen black hair and I seen red, but I never seen the two together, except on the young crowd.” She lowered her voice, “And honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re too old for that.”
    Shea twirled around, grabbed her hair in her left hand, forcing the