Moose and Goose

Chapter Fifteen

Vera is sitting on a wooden stool with her back to the kitchen sink, and Sheryl is standing in front of her. She runs the hot comb through the last section of hair at the back of her youngest daughter's neck.

"You've been confined to your room since you got back in, Judith," Sheryl reminds her. The two sisters exchange sorrowful glances. "Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or should I ignore it?"

You do that anyway.

She lets out a sigh, shrugs her shoulders, and says, "Mom, I'm fine. The crash just messed with my head a little, and I've been tired ever since."

Sheryl places it on the front burner to the left and grabs a red jar with both hands. Blue Magic Pressing oil, according to the label.

"Your bandage needs to be changed." As her fingers lift a glob of blue gel, she searches around the back of her head. "Pull up a chair next to your sister."

She returns her attention to the next section of Vera's shoulder-length hair, slicking the pomade against her dark coils, and Judith steps into the spacious dining room to retrieve the chair closest to the arch.

Stevie stomps down the flight of stairs with his fists balled up at his sides, and she settles into the chair to her sister's right.

"What're you cooking," he grumbles. His sisters look at him thoroughly, but his mother peeks at him from her peripheral, and she sets the jar on the counter. He ignores the cold expression she's displaying.

"My hair." She twists a generous amount on the right into a ball, leaving a narrow and defined portion. Her hand tightens around the pressing comb's wooden handle, and the warmth radiates through her palm.

"Can I go ride my bike with Hendrix and Mardi," he asks, and he's answered with a humored chuckle that he rolls his eyes at. Sheryl sinks the comb through her hair near the root with it in her free hand, and Vera clenches in her seat, mentally and physically preparing to be burned.

"You're not leaving this house until your father says so, Stevie, and you know that." Sheryl puckers her lips and blows on the greasy metal as it slowly passes to the ends of Vera's hair.

"Well, where is he?" She runs the teeth from root to tip once more then sets the straightening comb on the burner.

"He's outside talking to Robbie," she tells him without looking in his direction, and he flounces toward the door.

"Momma, when will you be done," she whines. Sheryl unravels another small portion, gripping the ends between her left hand's index and middle fingers.

"I'm almost done with the back. This isn't a picnic for me either, Vera," she tells her with a weary sigh. She returns the tool to her hair, glancing at the window in front of them. The moon has risen, but only a few stars illuminate the night.

"Mom, why're you pressing her hair?" Sheryl turns to Judith when she asks.

"Tomorrow is their school's picture day. Your Grandma in New York wants to see the kids, but I'm not packing y'all in a car to Brooklyn this time of year; it's too dangerous," she explains.

"Grandma Ida?" A smile grows on her face at the thought of seeing her extended family in Brooklyn, family members that she hadn't seen in years. "What if I watch the kids? I won't let anything happen."

Stevie slams the door, and it resembles a thunderous boom. It sends Judith to her feet and causes the trio to flinch. The hot comb's teeth graze Vera's right ear, and she emits an earth-shattering scream.

"What in God's name was that," Sheryl asks over her daughter's weeping. She returns the pressing comb to the burner and follows Judith to the arch. Stevie stomps toward the staircase, his face beetroot red.