After Ricky left for school, Mary took a shower and got dressed. The print-decorated man-tailored blouse and gray slacks she chose looked terrific on her, but she wasn't aware of that. Then she straightened up the house. Tom was due home today, and Mary made a practice of having the house look extra-good when her husband got back from a trip. The phone rang. She walked over and picked it up.
"Mary," her husband's voice came through the receiver. "Honey, I hate to do this, but I have to extend my trip through the weekend."
"Oh, Tom," Mary said. She couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice. She planned to make an all-out effort to revive their relationship this weekend. "Do you really have to?"
"Afraid so," he replied.
In the background, Mary thought she heard something, like a feminine giggle. "Tom...where...where are you?" she asked.
"Ah, I'm in one of my client's offices," her husband said quickly. "It's, ah, one of the secretary's birthdays, and the other girls are, um, teasing her."
"I'll bet!" Mary thought. All of a sudden fears about what Tom might really be doing on those trips rushed from the far corner of her mind, where she had banished them because they were too painful to consider.
"Look, Mary," Tom said. "I have to get going. I'll see you next week."
"When will you get home?" Mary asked.
"Probably Tuesday," he said.
"Tom...I...I love you," Mary said softly.
"Yeah, me, too," her husband said. Then he was gone.
Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes. She didn't understand what was happening to them. Their marriage seemed to be coming apart at the seams. Tom was gone all the time, and when he was home he ignored her. The result was that she was lonely. Ricky's presence helped, but he'd be going away to school next fall. What would she do then?
One of Mary's unwritten rules was, "If you need a lift, get your hair done." Pixie McGill, the girl who did Mary's hair, was a divorcee and had a bit of a loose reputation, but Mary liked her. Pixie always seemed to be so up and happy.
Pixie had planned to take the afternoon off, but when she got the call from Mary - who she considered one of her favorite customers and who sounded upset - she told Mary to come by at one.
Hairdressers, like barbers and bartenders, often act as confessors for their clients. Pixie, because she was such a good listener and never passed on what she heard, was one of the best. "I wonder what's bugging Mary?" Pixie mused as she worked on her current customer, who was babbling about her Aunt Alice, or Agatha, or whatever.
Mary, meanwhile, went back to her housework with new vigor. The brief phone chat with Pixie had improved her mood, and knowing she'd get to spend more time talking with her friend later gave her something to look forward to.
At one, Mary drove her big station wagon into the parking lot in front of Pixie's salon. She was surprised no other cars were there.
"You weren't planning to take the afternoon off, were you?" Mary asked when she got inside.
"Don't worry about it," Pixie said. "I had a feeling you needed someone to talk to, so here you are."
"Look, I don't want to spoil your day off," Mary said. She turned and began to leave.