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I pick up the scissors and finish the task, taking off the excess hair with some satisfying snips. I watch the hanks of fake hair fall to the floor. When the final bit is gone, I run my hands through what remains, my own hair.
It’s not a very good cut, that’s for sure.
Before I can change my mind, I grab the box of drug store hair color and in about an hour I’m back to something pretty close to my natural shade. I can’t tell for sure because I can hardly remember not having hair in a variety of colors.
I run a comb through my pixie cut and check myself out in the mirror.
Not too bad, if I do say so myself. Maybe I’ll get my cosmetologist’s license and go to some little town and style hair for other people.
My phone rings and startles me. For a fleeting second I hope I’ll see Caleb’s name on the caller ID, but it’s Nicco.
“Hey, Laura Ingalls. How’s it going in the wilderness?”
I can’t help but chuckle. He always has a way of making me feel better. “Hi, Nicco. I’m fine. How are things there?”
“No, you’re not going to distract me. I want to know for real. How. Are. You.”
I pause for a moment, glance at myself in the mirror and smile. “You know, I'm doing pretty well, all things considered."
"Good," he says. "Has Caleb been by to check on you? Did he get the cabin stocked like I asked?"
I feel my face get warm at the mention of Caleb. What if he tells Nicco? Oh, the idea of the two of them laughing at me and the dumb things I said really makes my blood boil.
"Alex? You still there?" Pause. "Damn, I think I lost you. I knew I should have put in a landline out there."
"N-no, I'm still here," I reply. "Caleb stopped by earlier today. And yes he did a fine job stocking the cabin. Thank you. He got all my favorites."
"Have you eaten all the Pop Tarts already?"
"No, smarty, I haven't."
"What do you think of Caleb? He's nice, right? He's a good guy."
What do I think of Caleb... he's the sexiest man I've seen in ages and being near him woke up feelings I thought were dead?
"Yeah, he's okay. Nothing special."
"Well, the important thing is that you can count on him."
"Hey," I say, remembering something. "You told him I'm a writer? What the hell?"
"How else can I explain that you don't want to be disturbed? You don't understand people in the country, Alex. They're friendly. A bit nosy too. But Caleb understands."
"You couldn't think of anything else?"
"It's not like he's going to check your homework, Alex. Besides, you are a writer, remember?" Then he starts hummingI Wish You Were Mine, my first big hit. A song I'd written myself. One of dozens I've written over the years. "Maybe you'll get your mojo back and write a few more songs like you used to."
I scoff. "Like Dad or his wife would put up with that." I pause. "That reminds me, does everyone still think I'm in the hospital? Have you been able to keep Dad away?"
I hear him blow out a breath on the other end of the line. "So far. I've told him you're highly contagious and you know what a germaphobe he is. But I don't think I can hold him off for much longer."
"I'm sorry to put you in this position."
"I put myself there, remember?"
Emotion wells up in me. Nicco is the only person in the whole world who looks out for me, just for me.
"Thanks," I say. "Don't know what I'd do without you."
