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This time, though, when I pushed the door open, it clunked into something hard. Something heavy.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Simone said.

Only when she scooted further into the opening did I realize she was the hard and heavy thing blocking the door. Wiping up the makeup that streaked her cheeks, she sat with her back against the wall.

Last time she looked like this, her lips were ballooned to twice their size, her eye was black and blue, and I hardly recognized her.

As I stepped inside, I flicked the lock behind me.

I stayed silent as I lowered myself onto the marble beside her and tossed an arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against mine.

Staring at the floor of the salon, only the quiet hum of pop music from Simone’s speaker in the back sounded. The cool ground beneath me counterbalanced the heat of her body against mine. She wrapped both hands around my bicep, sweat and tears dampening my sleeve.

Simone was usually the one to break the silence. When I realized she wouldn’t, I did. “Did your client ever show?”

She shook her head. “I texted to reschedule. Told her I had a family emergency. Hopefully I didn’t lose her.”

“Not like there are many other options in this town.” I rested the back of my head against the cool pane of glass behind me. “I’m sure she’ll be back.”

“Either way.” Sniffling, Simone swatted another tear away. “That appointment was gonna pay off Junie’s Christmas presents.”

“You’ll pay them off after the holidays.”

“Borrow from Peter to pay Paul,” she said under her breath.

On the phone earlier, Simone had mentioned that it was an extension appointment. That’s why she had hoped to pull herself together before her client arrived. She would’ve profited somewhere around five hundred dollars from that session. Now, she had five hundred less, which was a lot to someone who had just opened a business.

There it was again. Yet another way our pasts continued to screw up our lives, even from the grave.

“Story of our lives,” I muttered. “What happened? What did she say?”

Straightening up, Simone used the inside of her shirt to wipe up her tears and snot. “A whole lot of nothing, really. She thinks I killed David, but she doesn’t have any proof.”

“Because there is no proof. Everything’s handled. She won’t find anything, Simone.” I did my best to soften my voice. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re not the one who did it anyway.”

“I cleaned the blood off your shoes.” Crossing her legs lotus-style, she slouched her shoulders and propped her elbows on her thighs. “Pretty sure that makes me an accessory.”

“And you cleaned them good.” I shook my head. “We’re fine. We’re good. There’s no evidence anywhere. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not jail I’m afraid of.” She stared down at her hands in her lap and fiddled with her black, manicured fingernails. “She’s just as bad as him, Gwen. In a different way, yeah, but not by much. She’s where he got his temper. She’s where he got his addiction. But the thing is, she’s a hell of a lot smarter. She knows how to play people like a goddamn fiddle. She made some comment about how, if it were Junie, I would go to the ends of the earth for justice. Then she said something about talking to a lawyer. How I violated the custody agreement, how she’s going to try to get visitation, I think? Or maybe sole custody.” Head in her hand, she pinched her eyes shut. “She’s not going quietly. This is gonna be hell.”

When I was seven, an old man had showed up at the park behind my apartment building. Said he was my grandpa. That he wanted to come say hello, that he lived nearby now.

Mom must’ve been watching out the window, because she ran out those double doors like a bat out of hell with a shotgun. She hadn’t aimed it at him, but she’d made her point clear. He argued, saying that he was her father, he had rights, and she assured him that he was wrong. He could try to get visitation, or prove her unfit, but good luck.

For the next month, my mom stayed stone-cold sober. One of the only times in my life where she remained sober for any length. A time I looked back on fondly.

When CPS came, they’d drug-tested her. With clean piss, they’d closed the case.

“She’s a grandma,” I said. “She has no rights to Junie. David would, if he were here, but she’s got no leg to stand on.”

“Won’t stop her from trying.” She wiped her eyes and let her arms fall back to her lap with a thump. “I’ve gotta quit smoking. Today, I guess. The only thing that helps me sleep through the night, and I’ve gotta stop, because this bitch is going to use it against me. She’s gonna look for any reason she can find to get Junie taken away from me.”

Weed was legal in Montana and had been for several years. Given Simone’s sparkling record next to the shitshow Angela seemed to be, I couldn’t see a judge taking Junie away over a little bit of pot. “We’ll talk to legal about it. See what they say.”

“I don’t even want to send Junie to school now, Gwen.” Tears bubbled in her eyes as they met mine. “Angela got an apartment here. It wouldn’t surprise me if she tried to pick her up or something.”

“We’ll beat her there.” I glanced at my watch. 2:49. “We’ll stop at Maple & Thyme, grab a coffee, and sit outside until school lets out. When she goes back after the holiday, you can go into the office and make sure they’re aware of the situation with Angela. They won’t let anyone take her out of school that you don’t sign off on.”