Just My Type (22 page)
She looked both ways up and down the sidewalk, trying to decide which way to go. She would hit the grocery store again before Sean picked her up, but she had a half hour until he would be ready to go home.
And she needed some blue jeans. Apparently.
She turned left, simply because she didn’t have a better idea. Besides, the downtown area was situated in an old-fashioned town square design. The businesses literally lined four streets that made a complete square around the town park with a working fountain and a small bandstand in the middle. The square ensured she’d eventually make it to the shops that were now to her right. Either way, she’d see everything.
She was halfway across the square from Style when she passed a window with “Go Wildcats” in huge blue letters across the front and mannequins clothed in various T-shirts and sweatshirts in the school colors of royal blue and white. And blue jeans.
Relieved there was a place that sold clothes that weren’t too-big sweatpants, she pushed the door open.
“Hello.”
A man came toward her with a smile and Sara was relieved to see another person, besides Mac and Sean, who seemed friendly.
“Hi. Would you happen to sell blue jeans?” Might as well get right to the point.
The man nodded. “Sure. Back right corner of the store.”
“Great.” Relieved, Sara started in that direction.
She was amazed by the store as she walked. It was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside. It also contained an interesting assortment of items. She passed hunting supplies including tents, guns and camouflaged overalls and jackets. Next was the fishing section with several different poles and lures mounted on the wall, along with tall boots called hip waders. She wasn’t sure what those were for, but was pretty sure she wasn’t ever going to need them. Then there was the section that held basketballs, baseballs, footballs and other gear. Then, strangely, she found herself in the hardware section. Hammers, saws, nuts and bolts and even a few workbenches were on display. Next was apparently the automotive area. There were floor mats, motor oil, shammies, huge batteries and jacks. Nearing the back of the store she passed lawnmowers, hedge trimmers, barbecue grills and coolers of various sizes.
Finally she made it to the clothing section. Such as it was.
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There were racks of blue jeans. There were also T-shirts, flannel shirts and a vast array of apparel with the school colors and logos on them. There were also some shirts and jackets with the Nebraska Huskers, the state’s major university’s team logo.
Okay. Well, it was clothing. And it was what the locals wore.
“You need some stuff for the big game?”
The store owner wore a name tag. “Steve” was watching her flip past hanger after hanger.
“The big game?” she asked.
“The scrimmage tomorrow night.”
She really didn’t care about the scrimmage. Nor did she imagine she would be there. But he seemed excited. “What stuff do you recommend?” Heaven forbid she offend yet another business owner in Oscar.
“Well, it’s still pretty warm during the day, but when the sun goes down it cools off quick. You might want to start in a T-shirt and bring a jacket along.” Steve handed her a royal blue T-shirt with a huge white paw print on the front.
Wildcat Football
was scrawled beneath the print.
She smiled. “I don’t suppose that Mac, I mean, Jason Gordon has an account here?”
“Um, no,” Steve said. “I would certainly extend him any amount of credit, though.” He smiled widely. “He’s good for it.”
“Of course he is,” she said with her own big smile. “I’ll be sure he stops by to pay you right away when he gets back to town.”
Steve didn’t seem surprised she would be charging things to an account for Mac. Which probably meant everyone in town knew Mac had a wife living at the farm. Not that she minded.
Besides, it was going to successfully clothe her in acceptable garments, so she would just be happy.
She left the store with three pairs of jeans, a pair of not-completely-ugly leather boots that went just up over her ankles, a pair of white tennis shoes and two T-shirts, a sweatshirt and pull-over jacket for the Wildcats.
The total bill was still less than she’d spent on one outfit at one of the “boutiques”, as Mac put it, in Omaha.
She had just stepped out onto the sidewalk, pushing her sunglasses into place when she heard, “Sara!” She turned to find Sean and two other boys coming toward her.
“Am I late?” she asked as he got close.
He grinned down at her from nearly five inches over six feet. “No. We were coming in to look at some new hunting gear Steve got in.”
She smiled at the boys with him. “Hi, I’m Sara.”
“I know,” one of them said. Then when he got elbowed in the back by Sean, he said, “I’m Jared. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Zach,” the other boy said. “Are you really married to Jason?” 124
Just My Type
She shrugged. “Really am.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” She had to agree. It was pretty wow for her too. Even when he left her in a tingling pile of Jell-O on the kitchen table to go back to work after making her scream his name.
“Are you coming to the game?” Sean had spotted the royal blue.
“I think I am,” Sara said. “You play?”
Sean chuckled and the other boys grinned. “Yeah. We play.” She looked from one to the other. “You’re good, right?”
“We’re okay.” Sean’s modesty didn’t fool her.
“Well, now I’m coming for sure.”
“Cool.” Sean looked genuinely pleased.
“Yeah.” She looked around the town square. She wished she had somewhere else to go, something else to do. Facing the empty farmhouse alone didn’t sound appealing at all, but there wasn’t much choice.
The next day when she went into town with Sean, she was decked out in one of her new T-shirts and blue jeans. She couldn’t quite bring herself to wear the boots or tennis shoes, so she did slip into her flip-flops, hoping she could be forgiven for that one little thing. It was still summer as far as she was concerned.
She stopped at the bakery for cinnamon rolls this time before heading for Style With A Smile.
Conversation stopped the minute the door swung open. She gave everyone a bright smile. “Good morning, everyone.”
She set the rolls on the counter, noting that the bakery box from yesterday was set next to the garbage can behind the counter. And it was empty.
Then she took a seat in the only unoccupied chair in the waiting area, swung her purse—which was Gucci, though she’d found it online for a steal—to her lap and dug out her new nail polish and emery board from the grocery store—aisle two, not six.
She started rounding off her tips, ignoring the fact that the shop was completely silent.
She hummed as she filed and buffed.
Finally, conversation, stilted as it was at first, started again.
By the time she had the first coat finished on one hand the women had decided to ignore her and were going about their business and conversations as usual.
It was quite enlightening. After thirty minutes she knew about kids, jobs, husbands and vacations.
Probably more than she could have ever learned in even thirty minutes one on one. The women talked easily, asking questions about kids’ illnesses, how the new grandbabies were doing, how the new paint in the kitchen looked and how the interview process for law school worked.
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The women were quite obviously comfortable here and with one another. There was a camaraderie Sara envied. Though the questions were asked as a part of a semi-public conversation, it seemed clear that those asking the questions did care about the answers.
Sara wished she fit in here—or somewhere—like that. She was supported. She had people who truly cared for her and loved her. But she didn’t have…this. This acceptance from people who didn’t have to like her, who spent time with her by choice.
There was something special about friendships like this. Her closest friends were also family, or those important to her family. Her brother, Mac, Dooley and Kevin, even Ben, had this kind of friendship. The kind that’s chosen and tested and has survived over time.
She didn’t.
She didn’t have many friends. Dooley, Kevin and Mac had to like her because she was Sam’s little sister. Ben and Danika had to like her because of Sam and Jessica. The kids at the center liked her, made her laugh, talked to her, looked up to her, but they weren’t exactly friends.
She didn’t have any girlfriends.
Sara kicked off a sandal and pulled her foot up onto the seat of her chair so she could reach her toes.
She removed the decal and then wiped the polish clean with a portable polish-removing wipe. As she uncapped the polish and touched the brush to her big toenail she noticed the woman across from her watching intently. Sara continued with her pedicure. When all toes were polished she made eye contact and smiled.
“That looks nice,” the woman offered.
“Thanks.” Sara usually had other people do it for her because she enjoyed it and they were better at it, but she had watched enough times to know what she was doing. She glanced at the woman’s foot, also in a sandal. “Here, give me your foot.”
The woman looked startled. “Oh, no. I’m fine.”
“I don’t mind at all. I like doing it for others more than myself.” She had no idea if that was true, but it seemed like potentially a good way to make friends.
The woman looked hesitant, so Sara leaned over, grabbed her foot and lifted it into her lap. The woman didn’t protest, so Sara pushed her luck and unbuckled the sandal. She was acutely aware that the entire shop was watching them. She focused on the woman whose foot she was getting intimate with.
“What’s your name?” She slipped the sandal off and dropped it to the floor.
“Kathy.” She looked uncomfortable, but didn’t pull her foot back.
“Do you have kids?”
Sara had experienced more than her share of great pedicures. She began kneading Kathy’s foot, pressing her thumb in and then rubbing along the arch. She massaged the ball of the foot, then stroked back to the heel, up over the ankle and then started over.
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Kathy sighed. It was a small victory. It was hard to be snotty to someone who was rubbing your foot.
“I have three,” Kathy said. “My youngest is fourteen.”
“Wow, three,” Sara said. “Are the other two still at home too?”
“One is.”
“I work with teenagers every day,” Sara shared. “But I don’t have to live with them. I admire you.”
“You work?” Kathy said. Then quickly added, “With teenagers, huh?” Sara caught the small slip but ignored it. She smiled. “Yes. I was the administrator of a youth center.
We helped give teens, especially those at risk for trouble, something to do, a positive place to go instead of the streets.”
“And you were in charge of it?”
Sara also decided to ignore the surprise in the woman’s voice and the interest the others seemed to have. “Yep. I got a master’s degree in social work with the intention of running the center. My dad founded it and my siblings and I have run it ever since he died.”
“Wow.”
Sara smiled in response. That was nice. Maybe she was breaking some ice. She uncapped the polish and began applying it to Kathy’s toenails.
“My sister is the director of nursing for the ER at St. Anthony’s in Omaha. Her husband, Ben, is a trauma surgeon. My brother Sam is a paramedic, with Mac…Jason. And Sam’s wife, Danika, is a social worker at the hospital.”
Kathy smiled. “St. Anthony’s is like a family reunion.” Sara laughed. “Yeah. Except we all see each other every day anyway.” They continued to chat as Sara did Kathy’s other foot as well. By the time they were finished, the air in the shop seemed changed. Less tense. More comfortable.
She looked up, met the gaze of the stylist closest to the door and smiled. The woman didn’t smile back, but she didn’t glare, or look away either.
Small victories. One step at a time.
“You smell like cotton candy.”
Sara turned to the woman next to her. “Thank you.”
The woman seemed more puzzled than complimentary. “Do you have perfume that smells like candy?”
“No. It’s body powder.” She smiled. “Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
Hey, the woman was conversing with her. She had to keep it up.
“It’s body powder, but it smells and
tastes
like cotton candy.”
“Really?” The woman leaned closer. “Where do you get that?”
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“Scandalous Somethings.”
She frowned. “Is that in Omaha?”
“No, it’s a catalog and online. I just found it with Google.”
“What kind of store is that?” A different woman asked the question now.
Sara debated for only a moment. “Sex toys.”
Two words. Two small, simple words. And absolute silence descended on the shop. But it was different than before. It wasn’t judgmental. It was interested.
“I guess body powder isn’t technically a toy,” Sara amended, looking around the room at the fascinated faces. “They specialize in things to use in the bedroom.” She glanced around the shop again. No one said a word. “Or other rooms, I suppose. It doesn’t have to be the bedroom.” In her opinion, the kitchen had been just fine yesterday.
“Why are you wearing it now? Here?” Another salon patron joined in.
Sara turned to her. “I wanted to see if it would be sticky to wear it for a while. This book I’m reading says you should do fun little things that make you feel sexy and that will surprise your partner. I wanted to have it on when M—Jason…gets home tomorrow. I didn’t know if it would be sticky to wear it all day or if I should put it on at the last minute.”
The women all stared at her again. She looked at each of them. She’d told them she and Mac were married. If they were surprised she was talking about him and sex in the same sentence, that was their problem.
