Ten minutes later, there I was with bright red hair haulassing to the drugstore for drabber. That good, sweet man walking down the beach was obviously not prepared to deal with my Day-Glo curls, and I wasn’t so sure I was, either, in spite of my bravado. So when the elevator stopped on the third floor and a teenage boy and girl stood there waiting to get on, I hardly paid them any attention. My mind was already on the hair-coloring aisle at the Big B.

“Get in the elevator,” the girl said, giving the boy a shove.

“What’s wrong with you? Ladies first.” And the boy pushed her into the elevator.

“Stupid!” she grabbed at him. The door began to close, touched the boy, and sprang open. They both smiled at me sheepishly. When we reached the lobby, they sprinted for the beach. But I walked slowly toward our car. There was something I should be remembering, something that sat there at the edge of my consciousness and that the kids’ tussle at the elevator had touched.

Maybe if I had remembered and put two and two together, I could have prevented some of the things that happened later. But the sun was shining, and I was on an urgent mission. No time for introspection. Maybe that’s why I paid so little attention to the cyclist turning out of our gate toward Highway 98. In spite of her helmet, I saw it was Sophie when we both stopped at the traffic light at the highway. In fact, we waved to each other. And then she turned down 98 in the direction of Blue Bay Ranch, and I went straight across to the shopping center. But people ride bicycles down 98 all the time. It’s a four-lane road with wide shoulders and even sidewalks through Destin. That she might be doing anything other than going for a ride never occured to me.

“You know this stuff’s temporary,” the tall, tan girl at the checkout counter said as she rang up my purchase. “You have to put it on every time. It’ll make your hair darker, too.”

“You got any other suggestions? I’m desperate.”

“Bernice at the Curl Up and Dye is your best bet. You should see some of the messes she’s straightened out. You want me to call her?”

I wasn’t sure I appreciated my hair being referred to as a mess, but then I remembered Fred turning his back on me.

“Call. You’re the second person who’s recommended her. But it’s Saturday. You think there’s any chance she can take me without an appointment?”

“Bernice loves challenges,” the girl said.

Which is how a ten-minute trip to the drugstore turned out to be two hours well spent at the Curl Up and Dye.