“Up to you,” he said, and the phone went dead.

I set my duffel on the floor and paused to tally up my mental and physical states. Ethan’s combativeness had taken its toll, but the impact hadn’t really hit me until now when I thought I was safe. This must be what a prizefighter feels like after leaving the ring. During the bout, you’re too busy dancing and feinting and dodging blows, trying to anticipate your opponent’s next move. Now that I was back in the locker room, so to speak, I could assess my psychic injuries. I was exhausted. I felt bruised. There was an ache between my shoulder blades. My neck muscles were tight, and a tension headache was squeezing my skull like a bathing cap two sizes too small. Add to that the news about Felix, and my energy was at a low ebb. I put a hand against my forehead as Aunt Gin had always done when she was checking for a fever. She wasn’t sympathetic to illness, so the gesture was usually the prelude to her telling me to suck it up. Which was exactly the counsel I now gave myself. I’d driven 150 miles to take care of business and I wasn’t done yet. What could I do for Felix except to stand in the hall outside his room and fret? A thirty-minute delay wouldn’t make a difference.

I trotted up to the office as intended and turned in my key. I returned to the car, threw my duffel into the backseat, and slid under the steering wheel. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed east. At Chester I turned right, watching the numbered streets drop from Twenty-second to Nineteenth. The salon wasn’t hard to spot. Right-hand side, halfway down the block. There was even a nice long stretch of curb out front.

At 4:00, I was seated in the reception area at Hair and Nails Ahoy! It was fortunate for me the salon took walk-ins and Anna was the only manicurist. She was currently with a client. I didn’t want a manicure, but when the receptionist asked what she could do for me, it seemed easier to book an appointment than to stop and explain. While I waited, I leafed through a three-ring binder filled with photographs showing a variety of hairstyles. Most were clipped from magazines and none looked right for me. Why pay a salon when you can take care of it yourself at home?