Abe tapped Betty and she jolted from her thoughts.
“Don’t you want us to raise our children here?”
Her stomach fluttered. “The career I want is in New York. There’s no fashion industry or magazine industry in Michigan. As for my children—” It was then Betty realized what Abe had said—our children—and the substantial meaning behind the two words. He had placed them into a joint future. One where she was a wife with a career.
She playfully poked a finger at his chest. “I’ll raise them wherever their father is.”
Abe smiled a mischievous crooked smile. “I suppose you’ll want to marry me.”
She’d been content with the implication, never expecting him to say the words. Betty’s temperature spiked; her face heated. Then she rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess so—for the sake of the children.”
Abe kissed her. “Your grandparents aren’t going to approve of these plans. I’m only half-Jewish and I’m getting in the way of your future.”
“You are my future.”
Nothing and no one would change that.
Chapter 12
BOOP
The next day, Hannah drove Boop and the girls to the nail salon before heading home to Kalamazoo. “If I want to work this out with Clark, I have to be honest with him, no matter what,” Hannah said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“I want whatever you want,” Boop said.
Georgia patted Hannah’s shoulder. “Same.”
“Honesty is always the best policy,” Doris said.
Boop sighed as she stepped out of the passenger’s seat and as the girls emerged from the back of the car.
Doris was loving and lovely but sometimes stuck her in-need-of-a-pedicure foot into her mouth.
Boop set Hannah’s quandary to the side of her thoughts, after repeating a short, silent prayer that everything would be easy for her granddaughter going forward—with Clark, the baby, and life.
“You have to stop looking so grouchy,” Doris said. “Your face will freeze that way.”
“I am not grouchy, I’m just concentrating.” Boop forced a smile. She handed Doris a bottle of Ballet Shoes, grabbed Reddy or Not for herself, and chose Over the Taupe for Georgia, who already had her feet soaking.
The girls sat in a row of black faux-leather pedicure chairs at the front of the salon, and one by one, nail techs sat on swivel stools by the footbaths.
Natalie had been doing Boop’s nails every summer since she’d opened the salon five years earlier, and every week since Boop moved to South Haven full-time.
Boop had admired her right from the day she’d wandered in without an appointment, drawn by the Grand Opening sign. Not only had Natalie opened a business on her own, she was a single mother with a nine-year-old daughter. Though Piper spent intermittent time with her father in East Lansing, Boop knew Natalie shouldered most of the parenting alone. She always tipped Natalie well, and these days befriended Piper as much as a now-fourteen-year-old girl would allow.
The salon buzzed with friendly banter and local gossip, just like her beauty parlor had back in Skokie. “It’s busy season again,” Boop said.
“Thank goodness.” Natalie looked up and smiled.
“Remind me what Piper’s doing this summer?” Boop asked. She often heard music floating—or pounding—out of the back room. Her weekly appointments created familiarity without baggage. She knew about Piper’s hobbies and grades, and some of Natalie’s dating escapades.
“She’s spending most of it with her dad, but this week she’s in Chicago with my parents. They love spoiling her, and I needed extra time to work on a new project.”
“That sounds interesting,” Boop said.
“I’ll tell you all about it, but first, let’s see your color.” Natalie lifted the bottle from Boop’s hand. “Red. Nice. I’ll add it to my stash.”
“Your stash?” Doris leaned toward them from her chair.
“Natalie goes to Maplewood Assisted Living every Monday morning and takes along colors I recommend. Isn’t that right? Seems I have a knack.”
“You certainly do.” Natalie smiled broadly, the corners of her mouth puffing her cheeks. She was a pretty young woman—a little more worn and tired-looking than Boop’s granddaughters, with an often-furrowed forehead. Business and motherhood had stolen some of her carefree youth, but Boop imagined they had given her more than they’d taken. She had a daughter.
Natalie’s eyes were round, big, and brown, rimmed with dark liner and mascara on the top and bottom lashes, both artfully applied. Earrings dotted parts of her ears Boop never knew were meant for piercing. Natalie was thirty-five years old, as short as Boop but rounder and softer, yet still shapely, with a bouquet of flowers tattooed on her calf. Boop couldn’t get close enough to see what variety, but they looked like poppies. Natalie and Piper lived in an apartment over the salon.
Boop adored Natalie for her fortitude as much as for the weekly pampering and conversation.
“So, what’s this new project of yours?” Boop asked.
Natalie pulled off her gloves and stood. She reached for a stack of papers on a shelf below the reception desk to her right.
Natalie handed flyers to all the women in the salon. Boop would support Natalie however she could. Then she looked at the paper.
THE SEARCH IS ON FOR THE NEXT
MISS SOUTH HAVEN!
NOW ACCEPTING CONTESTANTS:
WOMEN AGES 18–22
MUST HAVE A CONNECTION TO SOHA
TALENT, DRESS, AND POISE CATEGORIES
REGISTER IN PERSON AT NATALIE’S NAIL SALON
SPONSORED BY THE SOUTH HAVEN CHAMBER OF COMMERCE
With her peripheral vision, Boop saw Georgia and Doris gazing at her. Boop stared at the page as it took on the weight of her past, a single pink sheet of paper, three words laden with memories: Miss South Haven. Boop’s chest thumped hollow and cold, like a wind was blowing through her. She folded the paper and handed it to Natalie, who chattered on, unaware of Boop’s discomfort.
“They’ve always done the Blueberry Princess and the Vacation Queen, but Miss South Haven?” Natalie leaned in as if that would give them privacy. “There hasn’t been a Miss South Haven since 1951.
