“That’ll have to do.”
As she got her things, started upstairs, Bodine thought of her mother at fourteen making a pact with her sister, a pact that would become a family. And of Alice at twelve dreaming of babies the way a young girl might. Of Alice having those babies alone in some maniac’s basement. Of having those babies, who might have given her some comfort, taken from her.
She was now determined to be more patient, more kind for Alice’s sake alone. Not just from worry for her grannies, for her mother, but for Alice, who’d once been twelve.
Then she saw Alice, gray-streaked hair hanging limp, eyes wild and angry. And the scissors snapping and shining in her hand.
“Alice.” She had to firmly slide the word over the lump of panic in her throat. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s all wrong. All of it. I don’t like it. I don’t like it. I don’t want it.”
“Okay. What don’t you like? What don’t you want? I can try to help.” Hoping her tone sounded easy and unforced, Bodine tried a step forward.
“I can say it’s wrong!” Alice jabbed the air with the scissors, stopped Bodine in her tracks. “I can say I hate it. The doctor said. She said, she said.”
“Sure you can. You can tell me if you want to.”
“Ma and Grammy went out.” Alice snapped the scissors, again and again. Click, click, click. “Ma and Grammy went out to get their hair done.”
“But they’re coming back soon. And I’m here. Clementine’s right downstairs. Maybe you could show me the scarf you’re making for me.”
“It’s finished. It’s done.” Teeth clamped, Alice jabbed the air with the scissors. “I can make one for Chase. All of Reenie’s. All hers, hers, all hers.”
“I’d love to see it. Could I try it on?” With her eyes on Alice’s, Bodine tried another step forward. Just a few more and she’d be close enough to grab Alice’s wrist. She was stronger, quicker, could take the scissors.
“Yes, yes, yes! But I don’t want it.” Alice grabbed her hair with her free hand, pulled viciously.
“Okay, that’s okay. You can…” And she understood. “Your hair? You want to get your hair done like your ma, like Grammy?”
“I don’t want it.” Squeezing her eyes tight, Alice pulled again. “Sir said it’s a sin for a woman to cut her hair, but the doctor said I can say. I can say I don’t want or I do. Which is right? I don’t know!”
“You can say.” Bodine agreed, moving another step forward. “That’s your right. You can say because it’s your hair, Alice.”
“I hate it.”
“Then we can change it so you don’t. We can go get your hair cut, Alice. I’ll take you.”
“Not out there. No, no, not out there.” As she looked at the walls, the doors, her breath came fast. “No, not out there. I can cut it off. I want to cut it off. He can’t stop me if I’m in here, in the home.”
“Oh, the hell with him.” Bodine’s words had Alice’s eyes going wide. “The hell with him, Alice. It’s your hair, isn’t it? Nobody’s going to stop you. But how about I cut it for you?”
“You…” Alice lowered the scissors, stared. “You can do it? You can?”
“Well, you’ll be my first, but I can sure try.” Maybe Bodine’s heart still skipped, but she smiled as Alice meekly held out the scissors.
“How about we set up our salon in the bathroom there? You can sit on the stool. Do you know how short you want it?”
“I don’t like it. I don’t want it. You can cut it.”
Bodine guided Alice to the stool. “I was just thinking, I know this girl and she grew her hair really long, almost as long as you. She grew it long, then cut it because she was donating it to this place that made wigs for women who got sick and lost their hair. If you want to do that, I can look up how it’s done.”
“You send it to a sick girl. Send the hair?”
“Yeah. Would you want to do that?”
“But it’s ugly. Old and ugly.” Tears swam. “Who would want it?”
Hoping to soothe, Bodine ran a hand down the impossible length. “I bet they’d fix it up, make it look nice. I’ll look it up on my phone while you brush out your hair.”
Bodine got a brush, watched Alice frown into the mirror.
Following the instructions, Bodine braided the long, long hair. “I bet there are at least two sick girls who’ll be grateful to you. I’m going to turn you a little now, so you can see from the side. Do you want it this short?” Bodine held a hand to Alice’s mid-back.
“More.”
Bodine climbed up inch by inch until she held the flat of her hand above Alice shoulders, and got a hard nod.
“Okay, let’s see.” She bound both ends with a band, blew out a breath. “I’m nervous. You’re sure about this?”
“I don’t want it.”
“All right then, here we go.” Praying the result wouldn’t send Alice into a rage or into tears, Bodine cut. She clutched the heavy braid as it fell away, held her breath.
Alice just stared at the mirror, eyebrows lowered.
“I can fix it up some, I think. Maybe get Nana’s smaller scissors or…”
Slowly, Alice lifted her hand, pulled her fingers through. “It’s still ugly, but better. It’s cut away, and he can’t stop me. You cut it away, and he can’t stop you. But I don’t know who that is.” She pointed at the reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know.”
Bodine laid the hair aside, set her hands on Alice’s shoulders. “That’s my aunt Alice, who named me.”
Alice’s gaze met hers in the glass, and she smiled a little. “You’re Bodine, because we promised.”
“That’s right. I’ve got this other idea. You know Grammy has some hair dye in her room. How about we color your hair now?”
“Red like Grammy’s? I love Grammy’s hair.”
“Me, too. Let’s color your hair, Alice.”
Now Alice smiled, lips and eyes. “I want that. I want red hair like Grammy’s. You have a red vest. It’s pretty.”
“You like it?” Bodine ran a hand over the red leather vest Jessica had talked her into buying. “You can borrow it sometime if you want.”
“Reenie hates me to borrow her clothes.”
“I don’t mind so much, and I’m offering. Let me go get the dye.”
As a precaution, she took the scissors with her.
She didn’t get much work done, but she’d make up the time. As a hair and makeup consultant, Bodine figured she was in the lower tenth percentile, but she did her best.
Flushed with success, she talked Alice into jeans—a first since her return—a pretty shirt, and her own red vest. She even dug out some earrings.
When Alice stood in front of the full-length mirror, studying herself, Bodine ranked it as one of the best moments of her life.
“I can see me,” Alice said with wonder. “I got old, but I can see me. I can see Alice. Alice Ann Bodine.”
“You look really pretty, too.”