Beauty Shop Tales. Nancy Robards Thompson

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      We’re mostly silent as we walk the short block up Broad Street toward Main Street.

      We turn onto the deserted main drag, pausing in front of the salon’s big plateglass windows to watch the three women make quick work of putting the place back in order. They wave at us. We wave back and start walking again.

      The street is lit by old-fashioned wrought-iron gas lamps that illuminate the storefronts, allowing just enough light to see inside. We stop again, this time in front of Paula’s Bakery.

      “Are you going to take back Mulligan?”

      It takes a moment to realize she’s asking if I’ll take back my maiden name. I want to say “I’m a widow, not a divorcée,” but instead, I shake my head.

      “I want to keep Chet’s name. At least it makes me feel like I still have a part of him.”

      A balmy breeze blows in and I breathe in deeply, savoring the briny ocean scent. I want to ask her about the bruise, but I don’t know how.

      Instead, we start walking again.

      As we turn the corner to complete our circle around the block, the glow of the gas lamps on Main Street doesn’t illuminate the small community parking lot that’s adjacent to the hardware store. It’s dark and a little eerie hearing the crash of the waves off in the distance.

      “Oh, good, Tommy’s back.” Dani gestures to the shadowy far corner of the lot, and I can just make out the outline of a big, dark pickup. “Renie and I walked to the party since Tommy took the truck. I’ll just ride home with him. But, of course, we’ll both see you back down the block.”

      It makes me a bit uneasy thinking that Tommy might have given her that bruise, but it seems worse for her to walk in the dark alone. Of course, one of us could have driven her…

      “Let’s go around to the back door,” she says. “He’s probably in the office doing paper work.”

      She raises her hand to knock, but the door opens and Tommy stumbles out. His long black hair is mussed. His blue button-down shirt is completely open, showing a pelt of dark chest hair that narrows as it disappears beneath the top of his unfastened jeans. Holding a beer bottle in his left hand, he has his right arm draped around the shoulder of a buxom brunette.