Breaking Josephine (24 page)

She laughed when I
said that and hugged me to her. “We will, sweetie, we will,” she said, as she
let me go and looked out at the ocean.

I sighed, closing
my eyes and trying to rid myself of the memories. That life and those happy
memories died the minute Dex’s father made the decision to drive that night and
the minute that truck smashed my mother’s car into a crumpled heap. But if my
mother hadn’t lied to me, I thought suddenly, then none of this would have
happened either: I would have known my family, not been sent to Overton, and
not forced to grow up at twelve years old.

“Oh mom, how could
you?” I said out loud. “How could you lie to me about everything? About who I
was and who you were and where we came from?” I opened my eyes and looked at my
reflection, groaning when my eyes landed on my chestnut hair. I tore my eyes
away from the mirror and walked painfully into the kitchen, rummaging through
the drawer for the kitchen shears.

Walking back into
the bathroom, I took one last look at my hair in the mirror. Then I pulled a
lock of it off my head and abruptly chopped it off. I cut again, and again, and
again. My mother’s hair fell from my head, from my face, from myself, and
littered the bathroom sink and floor. As I cut, and cut, and cut, I felt
lighter physically and emotionally. I felt the weight of my mother’s death, and
all the loss and longing I felt for her over the years lessen with every
falling strand. I loved my mother and treasured her memory, but her lies and
her deception consumed me every time I looked at myself. I couldn’t live my
life in the shadow of her death, being constantly confronted by ghosts of her
secret past every time someone looked at me and saw her.

If everyone saw my
mother when they looked at my hair, then I’d just get rid of it, and get rid of
a past I still didn’t know or understand. I let the last strands fall from my
face and I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hair stuck up in random
clumps all over my head. I looked like I survived a run in with a lawnmower. The
kitchen shears slipped from my grasp and clattered into the sink basin. I stood
there, transfixed, staring at a stranger, staring at me.

The knocking on
the door jumpstarted my brain and I lurched forward, stumbling out of the
bathroom and into the kitchen. I opened the door in a daze. Macy stood in front
of me, her eyes huge and her mouth hanging open in shock.

“Oh my god!” she
screamed, dropping her purse on the ground. “What happened? Did someone attack
you? Should I call the police?” Macy grabbed me by the shoulders and gently
shook me.

“Oh, no. I … um …
I,” I stammered. I let her steer me into the house and sit me down at the
kitchen table.

“Well?” she asked,
still looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Finally I looked up at her and
sighed.

“I broke up with
Dex last night. And I kind of freaked out … and butchered my hair. What are you
doing here?”

Macy wrapped her
arms around me in a big hug. I breathed in and could smell her shampoo and it jolted
me a bit more into reality. “I got your message yesterday and tried calling you
and calling you, but you didn’t answer. I thought something might be wrong, so
I came over.” Macy stepped back and looked at me and the disaster that used to
be my hair. “It looks like I was right. Are you okay? Do I need to call a
doctor or … or … someone?”

I smiled a weak
smile. “Um, no, I don’t need a doctor. I just need to pull myself together,” I
said.

Macy smiled and
clapped her hands. “How about I call Michael, and see if we can get you into
the salon today? You can’t go walking around town looking like that. Someone
will think you’ve lost your mind and send you to the loony bin. Besides, a day
at a salon can do wonders for your mood.”

Although I thought
a trip to a loony bin didn’t sound all that bad, the salon did sound like a
more rational plan. But I knew I couldn’t afford it. I shook my head,
responding, “No Macy, you can’t do that. I don’t need your pity and you know I
can’t afford Michael.”

“Nonsense. I’m not
pitying you in the slightest, I’m helping a friend. That’s what I am Jo—I’m
your friend, whether you like it or not—and I’m going to help you whether
you want me to or not.” Macy drew me towards her and hugged me again, her
slender arms reaching around to rub my back.

“Thank you, Macy,”
I managed to force out in a tiny voice.

“Don’t thank me
yet. You honestly have no idea what I’m about to put you through.” Macy found
some jeans and a clean t-shirt in my bedroom and forced me to put them on along
with a pair of sandals from my closet.

“What happened to
your feet? And what happened to your flip-flops?” she said as she set the
sandals in front of me and looked first at my bandaged feet and then at my
trashed shoes in the kitchen.

“You don’t want to
know,” I said. Macy rolled her eyes and pulled me out of my apartment and into
her waiting car.

We walked into
Salon Michael’s and Michael came running up to me almost immediately,
practically shrieking. “Oh my god! What did you do to your beautiful hair?” He
held his hands to his cheeks, his mouth forming a perfect O.

“I cut it,” I
said, looking at him and trying not to cry. I watched Macy whisper something in
Michael’s ear and he smiled a knowing smile.

“Ah. Boy trouble.
We can be jerks sometimes, can’t we? Well don’t worry beautiful, when we’re
done with you he’ll wish he never broke your heart,” Michael said, whisking me
over to a shampoo station before disappearing into the back of the salon.

After having my
chopped up hair shampooed, Michael led me over to his station and sat me down. “Now,”
he said, pumping the salon chair up with his foot, “What should we do with you
today? Do you want to still look natural, just a new cut, something different? Maybe
some color?” He smiled, excited by the possibilities.

I sat there and
looked at myself in the mirror. What did I want? Finally, I looked at Michael
and smiled. “I want to look completely different. I want people to not
recognize me when they see me. Do whatever you want, just make sure it’s not
too crazy, I do still have to earn tips at the Red Barn,” I said, watching his
eyes light up in anticipation.

Michael clapped
his hands and exclaimed, “Excellent! Just wait, Jo, when we’re done you’ll be stunning.
Totally different and stunning.”

After an entire
day at Salon Michael’s, with a stylist, two colorists, and what had to be a small
fortune, I was almost unrecognizable. My long, dark brown hair was gone,
replaced by a honey blonde bob. I touched the ends of my hair, and looked at
the back in a hand-held mirror.

“Do you like it?”
Michael asked, standing next to me.

I reached up and
gave him a hug. “I love it, thank you.”

“Jo, I mean, wow. Who
knew you were meant to be a blonde?” Macy said as she came up and looked at the
finished product.

I looked at myself
in the mirror again. Although I missed my hair, she was right, the cut and
color actually seemed to suit me, setting off my cheekbones and my dark eyes. And
better yet, I looked nothing like my mother. “Thank you Macy. It will take me
probably two years to pay for this, but I’ll pay you back, I will.”

“Don’t mention
it,” she responded. “And you don’t have to take two years to pay me back. How
about you just take my shifts next weekend at the restaurant so I can go out of
town with William? I’m already taking this weekend off work, and if I don’t
show up next weekend too, Sam will fire me for sure, and my dad will be majorly
annoyed.”

“Of course,” I
said. “That actually would be good for me, to get some extra hours at work.” I
managed to smile a small smile of thanks.

“When I get back,”
Macy said, squeezing my arm, “maybe we can have a girls’ day, and you can fill
me in on everything, if you’re ready.”

“I’d like that,” I
said, “thanks Macy.”

Macy dropped me
off at my apartment and I passed out on my bed, too tired from the events of
the past few days to even change into pajamas or pull down the covers.

I
woke early Sunday morning and arrived at the Red Barn before my shift. I
unlocked the door and flipped the sign to open, hearing Sam call from the
kitchen
, “Excuse
me, miss? We don’t open for another few minutes.”

“Sam,” I called
out. “It’s me, Jo.”

Sam wiped his hands
on his apron and came out from behind the kitchen wall. He looked at my face
and looked at my hair, running his hand through his own greying blonde hair and
scratching his head. “Jo? Is that really you? What did you do to your hair?”

“I changed it. What
do you think?” I said, turning around so he could see.

“Well, change is
the right word for it,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you, and I don’t think any
of the customers will either.” He shook his head and smiled. “How are you? Are
you sure you want to come back? Are you ready?”

Remembering how we
left our last conversation, I gave him a small smile, and said, “Thanks Sam, I
am. I need to come back to work and get my mind off of things. I’m here all day
and actually picking up Macy’s shifts next weekend too if that’s okay.”

“Sure is,” Sam
said, looking relieved. “Look Jo, it’s good to have you back, even with your
new look.” Sam smiled and walked back into the kitchen.

I took a deep
breath and busied myself with the morning’s tasks. I made coffee, set place
settings, washed tables, and stocked napkins. As the first customers of the
morning started to trickle in, I took orders, and tried to smile and pretend I
was happy and carefree. Sam was right—most regulars didn’t recognize me
and asked me if I just started the job. I explained, patiently, that it was me,
regular old Jo who’d been waiting on them for over a year. Most couldn’t
believe it and did a double take. Others clucked at me and tsk’ed me for
cutting and dyeing my hair. But I brushed it all off, confident at least in that
choice.

I stayed late Sunday,
cleaning the restaurant and prepping for the next day. I didn’t want to be
alone in my apartment with my thoughts. By the time I mopped the floor and set
everything up for the next morning, my stomach rumbled, reminding me I needed
to eat dinner. I turned off the lights and locked up, finally heading home to
be alone with my thoughts.

I walked up to my
door and found a bouquet of calla lilies, just like the ones Dex had given me a
few short weeks ago, sitting on my mat. I picked them up and opened the
attached note.

I love you. I am sorry.

Dex

I crumpled the
note in my hand and walked inside. I wasn’t ready to face Dex and deal with my
conflicted emotions. I realized Friday night, as the brandy glass and my world
shattered into a million pieces, that I was truly in love with Dex Hartley. I
was in love for the first time in my life. In love with someone who had lied to
me about my mother’s death and his father’s role in it from the minute he met
me. I didn’t know what to think and I didn’t know what to feel. Dex had
betrayed me, holding back information I deserved to know. He’d had every
opportunity to tell me what he knew, tell me and let me decide for myself
whether I could handle it and still be with him. But he didn’t give me that
choice, he didn’t give me any choice at all. I flipped open the lid to my trash
can and dumped the calla lilies in the trash, letting the lid swing shut as I
walked into the bedroom to escape from the reality of my broken life.

I woke up Monday
and went through the motions at work, trying my best to ignore my thoughts and
swirling emotions. As the morning went on, I found it harder and harder to
concentrate. I might have changed my hair, but I hadn’t changed how I felt
inside at all. My chest and throat tightened involuntarily, and it became
difficult to breathe. I took a break and went out back behind the restaurant to
try and compose myself.

I sat down on a
concrete parking spot divider and put my head between my knees. I felt the
world swimming around me and heard the blood rushing in my ears.

“Jo, Jo are you
okay?” I heard Sam say as he gently touched me on the shoulder.

I looked up, my
face hot with wet tears, and admitted, “No Sam, I don’t think I am.”

“Here, let me
drive you home,” he offered. He untied his apron and pulled it off, balling in
into his fist. “The restaurant will be okay for a few minutes without me. We’re
always slow on Mondays anyway. Wait right here.” I waited and Sam went inside
to grab his keys. He pulled up a few minutes later in his Subaru. I climbed in
and let him drive me home. He walked me around Eileen’s front porch to my door,
opened it for me, and guided me inside.

“Look Jo,
obviously something’s going on with you and you’re upset,” he said, looking at
me with concern. “You don’t have to tell me, but it’s clear to me that you need
some time off. I want you to take the week, okay? How about you plan on coming
back next Monday, after you’ve had some time to get yourself together?” Sam
asked me gently.

“But I told Macy
I’d cover her next weekend,” I said, almost choking on the words.

“Don’t worry about
it,” Sam said. “I’ll find someone else to cover for her. Seriously Jo, take
care of yourself, please. Take time this week and come back next Monday. Okay?”
Sam smiled and patted my shoulder.