Restless in Carolina Read Online Free Page B

my life”—such as believing in happily ever after—“but I’m headin’ in the right direction.”
    “ ’Course you are.” Savannah pats my shoulder before once more ducking out of sight to work on the dreads at the back of my head.
    “Goodness!” Georgia jerks the comb through a conditioner-drenched dread.
    “Ow! Oh, ow!” I’m up out of the chair again. And down.
    “I can’t do this if you don’t hold still,” Georgia snaps.
    Savannah gives my watery-eyed reflection a sympathetic smile. “I know it hurts, but we’re doin’ our best. How about an aspirin?”
    “Do you buy them in bulk?”
    She laughs, causing her rolled bangs to bounce. “Who woulda thought you had a sense of humor? See, Georgie, she’s not so bad.”
    Georgia thinks I’m
bad
? I’m not surprised, what with her behavior, but it’s unfair to continue to hold The Great Crop Circle Hoax against me. And it’s not as if her daddy didn’t more than make up for the loss of the crop I laid down by charging admission to the thousands who flocked to Pickwick to get a look at what experts deemed “genuine.” Of course, maybe she simply doesn’t like me because I’m a Pickwick. Or she could be an anti-environmentalist. Or an animal hater. Is it the dreads? All of the above?
    “Not so bad,” Georgia mutters, wiggling the comb and making no attempt to keep the strain from the roots. “
That’s
subjective.”
    “Here”—Savannah thrusts a bottle at her—“try detangler.”
    “But her hair’s already knee-deep in conditioner.”
    “I know, but I’ve taken out nearly two inches for every inch you’ve undone.”
    Georgia sprays the end of the dread until it drips. “I don’t see why you don’t just whack it all off, Bridget. Short hairstyles are in.”
    I thought it would come to that, which is why I stopped working the new growth into dreads following Bart and Trinity’s wedding—to give me a couple inches to fashion into something presentable—but then I ran into Savannah two days ago. Though we rarely exchange more than nods, she stopped me as I was coming out of the Pickwick Arms Hotel next door and told me God had put me on her heart. I started to lug my watering can and tool bag past, but she said that when I was ready to do something about my dreads, she thought she could save most of my hair.
    Her timing gave me chills, but I passed it off as Savannah simply being observant—until I realized it had been less than three weeks since I’d stopped working my dreads and the change was barely apparent.Coincidence, then. With no intention of enlisting her services, I hurried off. Now here I am.
    “That is better.” Georgia wiggles the comb through another inch of dread. “Still, I’ll probably end up with arthritis.” She peers at me. “If we cut off a bit more—say, six inches—you could still manage a shoulder-length do.”
    It’s tempting, since Savannah’s New York stylist friend estimated that with the two of them working together, the “takedown” would require five hours to undo the four years invested in my dreads. But the change would be huge, and I’d prefer to ease into this.
    “Don’t cut any more than you have to.”
    Georgia grunts. “Afraid you’ll lose your strength like Samson?”
    Old Testament Samson. In my opinion, that man deserved what Donna or Delia or whatever-her-name-was did to him. Some leader he turned out to be. “I like it long.”
    She sighs, and I wrinkle my nose at the scent of something peppery on her breath. “At this rate, we won’t be done before midnight. Mark my words, Savannah.”
    “Nah, we’ll have it out by ten. Providin’ you stop giving Bridget a hard time.”
    “And she stops jumpin’ outta the chair.”
    This time Savannah sighs. “Just keep that detangler going, Georgie.”
    “Time?” Savannah calls.
    “Nine fifty-five,” Georgia says from somewhere to my left. “You gonna make it?”
    “Almost there.”
    More spraying, more tugging, and my