He read the comics-Nancy, Freckles, Gordo, and Alley Oop-which he never thought were funny but couldn’t bear to miss. Then he checked the baseball scores and farm news while Rudy ran the clippers up the back of his neck. He drove home smelling like talcum powder. Despite Rudy’s best efforts, his back and neck were already feeling itchy from the newly trimmed hairs that had slipped down his collar.

Once home, he stripped off his work boots, Sears shirt, and overalls, and ran water in the shower. While he waited for the hot water to come through, he put his clothes in the hamper, and as he passed the bathroom mirror, he glimpsed the scabbed-over claw marks Violet Sullivan had left on his back not four days before. He stepped into the shower, feeling both appalled and aroused. If anyone else saw the marks his goose would be cooked. He was always surprised by the damage she managed to inflict. She was small, no bigger than a girl, all energy and sass, red hair hanging halfway down her back, with a waviness that made a pattern when he lifted it from her neck. He liked to thread his fingers through its thickness, grab a fistful of hair, and pull her head back so hard her mouth would come open with surprise. He’d run a rough palm across her breasts and down the length of her spine while she shuddered with desire. He’d never known a woman like her, so savage and so insatiable. She wore a delicate violet perfume, her trademark she said. She dressed in purple and lavender, sometimes a dark vivid green that set her green eyes afire. The fabrics were soft and clung to the front of her legs, making a crackling sound when he pulled the skirt away from her thighs.

He’d never cared for violets himself. Weeds, to his way of thinking, taking over the lawn. Mary Hairl loved them, the white ones in particular, and she fussed at Jake every time he threatened to spray. He couldn’t see the point in letting something wild and uncontrollable encroach on the grass. That spring, which he knew now would be Mary Hairl’s last, he’d lain facedown among the violets, letting the light, sweet scent saturate his skin. He’d run his hand across the dark green leaves, snatching up the blossoms in the much same way he’d torn into Violet the last time they met. The motel carpeting had a strange metallic smell that he associated with their sex.