They May Not Mean To, But They Do

50

Freddie let her father open the barbershop door for her, discreetly helping him. It was the third time they had been to that barbershop in three days.

“Mr. Hughes! Good to see you.”

“I need a haircut, my good man.”

The barber caught Freddie’s eye. She nodded slightly.

“Okay, Mr. Hughes! Sit right here.”

Ever since Freddie told her father about the impending visit of his four other children, he had been insisting he needed a haircut. The insistence continued, the two haircuts in the last two days notwithstanding.

The barber was a stolid middle-aged man whose father had cut Duncan’s hair until his retirement ten years ago.

“How’s your father?” said Duncan.

“The same. How are you?”

“Still here.”

They’d had the same exchange the day before and the day before that.

“Thanks, Mel. Dad was really eager to come in,” Freddie said.

“Oh yeah, we’re always happy to see Mr. Hughes.”

Duncan hummed a little, then faded away for a moment, then caught his own eye in the mirror. “Hello, handsome.”

“You do look sharp, Dad.”

He was pleased, and as they drove back to Green Garden, he read the signs they passed out loud as if they were lines in a dramatic play. It had always been one of his car trip games. He seemed like his old self and Freddie said nothing, not wanting to break the spell.