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Sunny
I
I’ve never been one ’ve never been one for shopping, but I have to admit, Carl makes it a lot more fun than it’s been in the past. When it comes to picking out a towel for the shower, he takes on a British accent and pretends to have a home design show. He won’t let me pick a shower gel until I’ve smelled every bottle and ranked them from worst to best. He insists on a fashion show when I go to try on some jeans. He does the runway announcer’s voice so well that he draws a crowd.
“I need something from the beauty aisle,” I say as he points the cart for checkout. I don’t wait for him to ask, hoping I can grab a couple boxes before he notices what I’m doing. The only problem is, I’ve never colored my own hair before, and when I see the full aisle of options, quick is no longer possible.
Carl stops next to me, quiet for the first time since the car. Finally, he nudges me with his elbow. “I thought blondes had more fun.” When I look at him, he quirks an eyebrow. His perfect comedic timing cracks my anxiety, and I can’t help but laugh. “I mean, I doubt the rest of the ranch really cares if your roots are showing.”
“They are not!” My hand immediately smashes over my center part as if it’s my most shameful secret.
But it’s not.
Not even close, not by a long shot.
“And the truth comes out,” Carl’s eyes dance with excitement, “she’s a girlie girl underneath all the ranching cowgirl bravado.”
“Not at all,” I lie. “I just like looking good.”
“Is your standing spa appointment once every six weeks or do you wait the full eight?”
I roll my eyes and do my best to ignore him. No need to tell him I’ve never gone eight weeks between appointments, not since I turned fifteen. I have three people in the whole world that I trust with my hair, but how hard could it be? And Rhett is right, I can’t look like me anymore. Not with Whitlock and Stoll around.
“So, are you thinking something mysterious like this jet black number over here?” Carl’s grin goes crooked with mischief as he rattles a box at me. “Or hey, lavender is trendy right now. Maybe bubblegum pink to match that secret personality of yours.”
It feels like ages since I’ve laughed. Getting a moment to let go and forget, to be normal even if it’s not in my own skin, it’s a treasure. I pretend to be annoyed, but the truth is that his guess is as good as mine when it comes to choosing my new look.
“I’ve been blonde for just about forever…” Somehow, I know I don’t have to tell him that it won’t stand any longer. We haven’t said it, but everyone seems to assume that I’m trying to disappear and that’s as close to the truth as I’m willing to get.
Carl crosses his arms and stares hard at the boxes on the shelves. “Well, brunettes look sophisticated and smart. Redheads get all the guys, but your ratio of single men in your life is a little high at the moment to try that one out.”
I appreciate his attempts to make me forget that my world came crashing down around me less than two weeks ago. I pull a box from the shelf. “What about this one?”
Carl pretends to study the back of the box like he knows what he’s doing. “Intense deep auburn.” He tilts his head to the side. “Do you think you’re ready for both intensity and darkness?”
It’s hard to resist shoving him. “Do think it’ll look good or not?”
Carl looks down, hesitating for a brief second before he answers. “Just about anything will look good on you, Sunny.”
The air between us tenses with the sincerity of his words. I doubt he means much by it. It’s not like there are many available women around the barn. I’m just the first one he’s crossed paths with in who knows how long.
“Come on,” I grab a second box for good measure, “let’s get a move on.”
Carl shakes off whatever fell between us a second ago. “Eager to get back to all that manure, huh?”
“I do more than that.” I steer the cart into the first available line, happy it isn’t too long.
“This basket is full to the brim,” Carl casts me a worried glance, “are you sure you don’t need an advance on your pay?”
“I’m sure.” I don’t want him to see the cash I have on hand. It would raise too many questions. I start loading the conveyor belt with my items, nervous sweat beading on my forehead and between my shoulder blades. In my rush to escape, I only grabbed large bills. A stack of twenties, that I could explain away, but I’m coming up blank explaining where I found this many hundred-dollar bills.
“Do you mind bagging everything for me?” I blurt the question out, speed set to a high gear, and Carl immediately eyes me like I’ve said something crazy.
“They pretty much take care of that here.” He gives a quick wink to the cashier who nearly swoons at his attention. “You trying to get rid of me, Sunny?”
I don’t answer. My system goes on overdrive. Every voice amplifies until the superstore sounds like a crowded stadium. Smells churn together, body odors, a bag of popcorn a child has spilled, perfume from the old woman behind us. My stomach flips. The fluorescent lights flicker like someone is signaling my deceit to everyone in the store. I stretch my head side to side as the items cross the belt. Surely Carl can see my distress, but I bet he’s chalking it up to worrying about how I’m planning to pay the bill.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
