The Sweet by and By Read Online Free PDF Page B

looks like she’s been at Dix Hill, which is where they put crazy people who ain’t got nowhere nicer to be put. I saw a picture of somebody with hair like that in a magazine, living up on the side of a mountain in a convent or some kind of a monk building, and I’ll tell you one thing, that is not for me. The woman acts like she’s waiting for me to say more. What else do I need to tell her? “I was here last week,” I say, “but I can’t re- member where that office is to save my life.” I’m trying to be pleasant even though it ain’t exactly how I feel.
    The woman points several times like she’s stabbing air, punctur- ing something with a straight pin. “First door,” she says, adding a few more quick finger points. What’s she got to be so ill about?
    Ada Everett is sipping from the same NC State mug I remember, f lipping through pages of a date book. I bet she’s looking for whatever it is she needs to fill in on the big plastic wall calendar outside her door. Last time I was here she was erasing off all the stuff that was either already over or canceled. She uses all different colors for movie night, art class, bingo, and I guess whatever else they can come up with for these people to do stuck in here.
    “Mrs. Everett?” I move all my plastic bags into one hand and tap real light on the door frame. She does not look up at first. The phone startles her, and she answers, sort of pissed before she even says any- thing. I can tell from the way her nose is curled. It reminds me of Evelyn’s Pekingese, Miss Dolly, named after Dolly Parton of course, that she brings into the shop sometimes.
    “Yes. Yes.” Ada Everett sounds impatient with whoever is on the other end. “I already told him we needed Dr. Hammond’s approval.” She rolls her eyes. “All right. Yes, please do.” I wait in the doorway. Her expression changes like turning on a light in a dark room. “Oh hi,” she says. “Rhonda, right? Yes. Welcome, Rhonda. Listen, you don’t really have time to sit down. I believe I showed you the salon, didn’t I?”
    She is the most polite person I ever saw, even though she’s trying her best to push me out the door. It sort of scares me, that kind of cheerfulness. I don’t know why. You can’t be part of it. Like maybe she’s just had sex in a closet or something and is dying to tell somebody the secret, only the somebody ain’t me.
    “I wanted to check in with you first, that’s all,” I say. “I remember the way.”
    “Well that was kind of you dear, but you need to run on down there and get yourself organized. They’ll start lining up in the hall soon, and I know they’re all going to be so glad to see you. They’d much rather see you than me!” She laughs but it sounds like letting air out of a balloon in short spurts, a few short squeaks followed by a low sigh like she wore herself out.
    I say, “Well I’ll go on then,” but I think, like hell they want to see me, they don’t even know me, and I don’t really want em to. I’m here for work, not to find a best friend. I already got one of those.
    Outside the salon, there’s a line starting to form exactly like she said. This many heads means I’m gonna be here all day. Damn. A woman with a cane stands up on thin legs, but she looks strong. She’s
    got a strong mouth, it shows from the way she sets her lips. Her hair has been taken care of, that much I can say. I can’t help it, I always notice hair, it’s one of the first things I see, man or woman.
    “Excuse me,” she says. She is holding out her hand, and the veins make it look more blue than white. Pale blue like faded jeans against skin that looks like it ain’t never seen the sun. I shake her hand. I’ve never shaken hands with a woman before, and her skin feels like it’s barely hanging on the bones, saggy and thin. Her knuckles are big, she must have arthritis. She acts like she shakes hands with anybody in the world she takes a notion to, sorta proud and