I sighed with relief. “I’m so glad you think so. This is a huge decision. I haven’t cut my hair since college, and I have kind of a big event coming up.”

Dinah chuckled and patted my shoulder comfortingly. “You’ll be gorgeous, don’t worry. Let’s get you shampooed.”

Missy opened the door and her jaw just about fell off her face. “Oh … my … gosh.”

I bit my lip and smiled. “Is that a good ‘Oh my gosh’ or do I need to shave it all off and start over?”

Missy grabbed my arm and pulled me into the house. “Mom!” she yelled. “Come look at Grace!”

Jane scurried in from the kitchen, a dishtowel still in her hands. “Oh my heavens,” she said when she registered the new look. “Grace, I can’t believe how much it changes you. It’s wonderful! Oh, not that you didn’t look lovely before—you know what I mean. Do you like it?”

I nodded furiously, laughing. “I love it!” I howled. “I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner!” I ran my hand over the back of my head. “My neck is cold, though. Its never been exposed like this before.”

“It’s so short … but I love it, Grace, I really do. You are gonna so look like you belong in Hollywood.”

“There’s one more thing I want to do, though; you’re gonna have to help me, Missy.”

“What’s that?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Dye it.”

“Oooh, sounds fun. What color?”

“Something … dark.”

“Black?” Missy and Jane chorus.

“No, not that dark. But dark, dark brown. I think the contrast would look really cool with my skin. I’m so … not tan.”

“You’re getting bold with your newfound beauty, aren’t you?” Missy teased.

I laughed and glanced at the hall mirror near the front door. “Every time I see myself I have to look twice. I can’t believe that’s me.” I grinned and said in a little voice that sent Jane and Missy into gales of laughter, “I look goooood.”

“You sure do, girl,” Missy said. “Let’s go get some coffee or something so you can show off your hair to the world.” She grabbed her coat and purse from the table beneath the mirror and followed me out the door.

We went to a small coffeehouse down the street and sat on a ragged couch near the window. A table filled with magazines sat before us, and it reminded me of the magazine I’d read at the salon. “Did you know his girlfriend had AIDS?” There was no need to clarify who “he” was; there had only been one guy in our conversations lately.

She frowned and shook her head. “Don’t think I knew that, no. ‘Had’? Did she die?”

“In a car accident, yeah.”