Free Love Me If You Must by Nicole Young Page A

the mess. “Anyway, Sandra definitely wins the Most Successful award. She ended up on the campaign team for some guy running for mayor in one of the big suburbs. He gave her credit for his win, and she pretty much wrote her own ticket after that. You can’t beat a six-figure income at the age of thirty-three.”
    Tammy put the brush in a drawer and slid it shut with a bang. “I’m lucky if people remember to leave me a tip.”
    I frowned in sympathy. I couldn’t blame Tammy for feeling disappointed at the follies of life. My own forgotten dreams were enough to make me resent everyone I’d gone to school with. I hadn’t kept in touch with any of them, but somehow I was sure their lives were going along without a hitch, while mine had bottomed out long ago.
    A comb scraped against my scalp and scissors crunched through my hair. I tried not to cry as four inches of split ends dropped to the floor.
    Tammy yanked up another section. “Then a few years ago, Sandra hooked up with a guy even more driven than she was. They fell in love, if you can call it that. Anyway, their careers ended up on a collision course, and before you know it, she broke off the engagement. Not long afterward, Sandra left town, never to return.”
    I wondered if it was completely rude to ask more specifics. I decided I had a right to know. Sandra’s messy life had spilled over into my own.
    “Who was this guy and what happened?” I asked.
    “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. It comes dangerously close to being gossip.” She lifted another section of hair. The scissors hovered, then I heard the snip. “But I better mention it so you don’t find yourself on the wrong side of Sandra’s ex-fiancé.”
    “Would I know this person?” I asked.
    “You would if you’ve tried to get anything through at the village.” She cut off a chunk of fluff. “Martin Dietz.”
    My fist hit my forehead. At the sudden move, Tammy jerked her scissors clear.
    “Martin Dietz, huh?” That explained why the man was so barbaric at our first run-in. If this Sandra had jilted him, my face could only bring back the most painful of memories.
    But was that reason enough to deny me a permit to knock down the cistern? It seemed he was letting personal grumps get in the way of his job.
    “I take it you already ran into him,” Tammy said.
    “This past week. No wonder my contractor yelled at me for going over to the village offices.”
    “I hope you don’t get the wrong impression. Like I said, it’s just because you look so much like Sandra. Martin’s really not that bad. He’s just getting over a broken heart. I think he’s taking positive steps toward improving his attitude. For one thing, he’s been a big financial backer of our church’s youth group over the past year.”
    I almost guffawed at the thought of Mr. Dietz being charitable. More likely, he was trying to buy his way to heaven.
    Tammy turned my chin back toward the mirror. “Almost done.”
    I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me. I had a neck. And eyebrows.
    I tucked one sleek strand behind an ear. I had a face again, and it was pleasant. Pretty, actually. I could even see the green of my eyes now that all the perm and highlights from last year’s visit to the salon were cut out and my hair was back to its original chestnut color. The glaring grays I’d obsessed over this morning had disappeared with the fresh look.
    “Wow. It’s great.” I smiled at Tammy in the mirror.
    I wondered if she could perform the same miracle with my insides. Snip off a little guilt here, a tortured conscience there, and voilà, I’d be as good as new.
    Yet somehow I knew it would take more than a trim to cure my problem.

  11
    Tammy dried my hair, then suggested a manicure as a finishing touch. I looked down at my jagged nails. The last remaining runt had peeled off this morning when it snagged my paint-splattered sweatshirt.
    I pictured myself across the table from David at the Rawlings