No. Bad hormones. Down.
I yank the pants off the hanger, pause, glance back at the pleated skirt, bite my lip.
With a sigh, I resist the temptation and head for the bathroom to get ready.
I’m cursing my hair out as I struggle with the brush, trying to get out a particularly awful snarl when Delphine knocks on my door, and I call out for her to come in.
“Oh,” she says, blinking in surprise at my fully dressed form. “You got up all by yourself?” Her lips twitch, and I give her a look, gesturing at her with the brush. The boys’ suspicions toward her are not unfounded. I’ll admit, mine aren’t either. Like, think about those bloody sheets. How easy would it have been for her to put them back on my bed? Or what about the pink envelope with Tess’ birthday letter in it? That, and the skeleton key. I threw them out and they ended up right back in my room. Regardless, I won’t trust the girl with any secrets, but I really hope she isn’t in on this. I like her, and I could really use a female friend right about now.
My heart aches for Maxine, but I resist the urge to fixate on that. The more quickly we find Parrish, the greater my chances are of figuring out a solution to my Justin problem. He has to die. The thought bubbles up unbidden, and I clamp down on it by forcing a smile. Practice makes perfect, right? And I’m an expert at fake smiles now.
“Hey, I’m capable of getting up early when I absolutely have to. Like, say, for a zombie apocalypse.” I start to yank at my ass-long waves again when Delphine steps forward, offering out a hand.
“May I?” she queries, and I give a loose shrug, passing the brush over to her. She starts by smoothing a soft, gentle hand down the length of my hair, and I shudder. Her touch reminds me of Maxine. Oh, Maxie. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. “I’m used to combing my grandmother’s hair out, and her scalp is extremely sensitive.”
“Your grandmother?” I ask politely, staring at myself in the mirror as Delphine brushes my hair. We’re about the same height, but she tilts her head slightly to one side, enough so that I can see her slight smile in the mirror. Of course, I already know about the elderly woman she lives with, but I can’t very well admit that Maxx was spying on her, now can I?
“Yep. I’m all she has, so … I take care of her.” Delphine carefully works the brush through my hair, undoing snags and rat’s nests that I was yanking on, snapping strands of hair to my own detriment. “She’s been sick for a while. I’m not sure if she has a lot of time left.” Her hand goes still and her eyes close. The brush stops for a moment, but then she opens her eyes and continues her work.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I tell her honestly, and she nods, like maybe the words of her response are sticky with emotion and caught in her throat.
“Dakota, I’d like to tell you something,” Delphine starts, huffing out a breath and making her wavy bangs flutter around her forehead. “Last week, I put in my notice.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror and lift both brows in question.
“You’re quitting?” I ask, and she nods, continuing to brush my hair until her motions are nice and smooth, and I’m blessedly free of tangles.
“French braid sound okay?” she asks, and I struggle with my emotions for a second. This moment, if you replaced Delphine with Maxine, it’d be like a million others we had together in our shared bathroom back home. We had a Jack and Jill bathroom, one of those ones with a door on either side that leads to two bedrooms.
This won’t be the first time I have my hair braided by an older, sisterly figure.
Ugh.
“French braid is great,” I breathe, shaking my hands off like I’m shedding my emotions along with the movement. “You’re really quitting?”
“My last day is next Tuesday,” she admits with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to quit. Honestly, you’ve been nicer to me than any of my other clients.” She gives another sigh and a shake of her head. “But I can’t stay here. With your brother still missing, and JJ still missing, it just doesn’t seem safe.”
With cool, deft fingers, Delphine finishes up the braid and reaches out a hand. I snatch a hair tie off the counter and plop it in her palm. She has a point, I guess. Or what if she’s guilty? I mean, she could be, right? If I ask Justin about her, would he tell me? He doesn’t seem to mind sharing his secrets. Actually, he seems excited about the idea.
