LITMIR.BIZ

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said when he picked her up at the after-school child-care facility.

      “I’ll make an appointment,” Bruce promised her. He chose a name out of the yellow pages, a place that promised great cuts, phoned and wrote down the day and time. Monday at four. Then he dutifully arrived at the mall with Jolene in tow.

      “Get Nai-led,” Jolene said, sounding out the second word. They stood in front of the shop. His daughter nodded approvingly, and he was relieved he’d apparently made the right choice this time.

      Taking her by the hand, Bruce walked into the salon. It was like stepping into an alien world. Women draped with plastic sheets and huge looped curlers twisted about their heads sat in chairs and stared at him as if he was the odd-looking one. The smell was none too pleasant, either. He didn’t know what these women did to themselves or why, but they had his pity.

      Tentatively Bruce walked over to the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Bruce Peyton,” he managed to get out. “I have an appointment for my daughter.” He leaned against the counter. “She needs a haircut.”

      The woman, who must’ve been about eighteen, ran her index finger down the appointment schedule. Her fingernail had to be a good two inches long and had something painted on it. He stared hard and realized it was some psychedelic print. Very sixties. But why? He shook his head slightly.

      “Here you are,” she said in a chirpy voice. “She’s booked with Rachel.” Looking past him, she shouted, “Rachel, your four o’clock is here.”

      Bruce stepped away from the counter.

      “Rachel will just be a moment. Would you like to take a seat over here and wait?” The receptionist gestured to a row of chairs against the wall, all of which were empty.

      “Ah, sure.” Bruce sat down on one of the chairs and Jolene sat next to him. He reached for a magazine and quickly replaced it when he saw the lead article was “Ten Ways to Achieve an Orgasm.” In case Jolene tried to sound out the word orgasm, he turned the magazine facedown. Luckily, the latest issue of The Cedar Cove Chronicle was available. He grabbed that and hid his face behind the newspaper before anyone could recognize him.

      Jolene sat patiently at his side, her ankles crossed, gazing avidly at the ultrafeminine world before her.

      Less than five minutes later, a dark-haired woman who didn’t seem to be much older than the receptionist approached him and Jolene.

      “I’m Rachel.”

      Jolene scooted off the chair and stood. “I need my hair cut.”

      Rachel smiled and held out her hand. “I can do that.”

      Feeling even more awkward, Bruce stood, too, wondering what was expected of him now.

      “You wait here, Daddy,” Jolene instructed him.

      Rachel’s eyes met his and they shared a brief smile. He had his orders, Bruce figured.

      “This won’t take more than thirty minutes,” the beautician told him.

      “Sure…great.” Bruce sat down with the newspaper, but he soon grew restless. He got up and walked outside the salon and over to the food court. It’d been a while since his last visit to the mall.

      He walked around for a bit and then noticed an electronics store. With at least twenty minutes to kill, he decided to ask about MP3 players. Even if he couldn’t afford one, it didn’t hurt to look.

      Before he went into the store, Bruce checked his watch to be sure he didn’t inadvertently stay longer than Jolene’s appointment lasted. Stephanie had died on her way to pick up Jolene from kindergarten class and his daughter had been left waiting at the school for hours until someone could come for her. She’d been traumatized and, ever since, had reacted to any lateness, any deviation from a promised schedule, with extreme anxiety.

      A salesman arrived, eager to show him the latest technology. Bruce had a few questions and they were soon involved in a discussion of the pros and cons of different brands. When he checked his watch a second time, a full thirty minutes had passed. Panic rushed through him as he quickly made his excuses and bolted out of the store. He sprinted across the mall, past the food court and toward the salon.

      He could imagine Jolene crying and upset because he’d disappeared. He should’ve told her he was leaving, should’ve explained that he was inside the mall not more than a minute away. He should never have left her.

      Twice since Stephanie’s accident, Jolene had awakened from a nightmare in which Bruce hadn’t arrived to pick her up from school. In her dreams she learned he’d died the same way as her mommy. It had taken her hours to sleep again.

      Bruce realized he must have made quite a sight tearing into the salon, eyes wild. The entire shop seemed to stare at him.

      Jolene broke the spell with a calm, “Hi, Daddy.”

      His daughter sat at a table with her hands outstretched while Rachel sat across from her, painstakingly painting Jolene’s fingernails.

      Now that his heart had decided to leave his throat and return to his chest, Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets and casually strolled over to them.

      “You weren’t here when Rachel finished my hair.” She tossed her head to and fro the way women did in shampoo commercials on television. “Do you like it?”

      Bruce nodded. Hair was hair, but he did think his daughter looked awfully pretty. Of course, he’d thought that before she had her hair cut, too.

      “I got sidetracked in the electronics store,” he told her.

      “That’s what Rachel said prob’ly happened.”

      The beautician glanced up with the nail polish brush in her hand. “We lose a lot of men to the electronics store.”

      Bruce would bet they did. Given a choice, just about any man would look for an excuse to get out of this women’s domain.

      “Was she upset?” Bruce asked Rachel.

      She glanced up again and smiled. “Only a little.”

      “Rachel said she’d paint my nails. Aren’t they pretty, Daddy?”

      Bruce considered the bright red polish a moment and then nodded in what he hoped was a satisfactory manner. “Very pretty.”

      “We’re almost done,” Rachel said.

      “I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

      “It’s not a problem,” she assured him. “Once I’m finished, we’ll need five minutes for Jolene’s nails to dry.” She looked up. “Oh—the manicure is on the house.”

      He mumbled his thanks. Five minutes seemed an eternity, but this was what he got for losing track of time. While he waited, Bruce paid the receptionist and added a generous tip for the beautician.

      When Jolene was ready, she walked with her arms stretched out in front of her as if she’d seen the Bride of Frankenstein one too many times.

      “Can I have an ice cream cone?” she asked, gazing across at the food court.

      “You can if you promise to eat your dinner.”

      “I promise.”

      Together—but not hand in hand, since Jolene was concerned about preserving the perfection of her nails—they walked over to Baskin-Robbins and stared into the glass case. Bruce chose vanilla, his favorite. Stephanie had never understood how he could prefer vanilla when he had thirty other flavors to choose from. Jolene was just as predictable. She wanted bubble gum.

      They sat at a small table and Bruce watched his daughter lick away at her blue ice cream. He smiled at her complete absorption. She smiled back, and he thought his heart would stop. In that split second, she resembled her mother so much.

      Every now and then, Bruce caught glimpses of Stephanie in their daughter. In

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