Hairwolf
Chapter Thirty Seven

Lillian takes a bag and pulls out a beautiful sundress and hands it to Stef. “Found this. Thought of you. Try it on.”

“It’s gorgeous. Thank you,” Stef says, holding it out in front of her. “This is for me, right? Not . . .”

“No,” Lillian says. “She’ll destroy it. I’m still looking for something adequate for her.”

Stef excuses herself and runs into the house with it.

Lillian takes a seat next to Foster. She has something to say to him and puts her hand on his knee.

“I just want to say. . .”

“. . . I know, I know. You’ll hunt me down if I hurt her.”

“No. I just want you to think about what you’re getting into. As you know she’s just not some other girl. You need to think about that – for yourself, as well as for her.”

“Thank you. I think we’ve got a pretty good hold on the what-if’s. She’s a gift.”

“As are you. I want to say I’m happy but I don’t want to curse it.”

Inside, Stef slides into the one piece. It’s soft white with a flower print. It’s short but not too short. She flattens the shoulders and steps back from the mirror. She notices splattered toothpaste droplets on the mirror and wipes them off.

The dress fits nicely and looks great on her. But her hair is a mess. She looks for a brush or comb but there aren’t any. This is Brizzbee’s bathroom. She yells to him out the window.

“Brizzbee. What do you use for a hair brush?”

“My fingers.”

“Oh, jeez. Well. That’ll work.” She fluffs her hair with her fingers but it lacks the result she’s looking for. Frustrated, she exits the bathroom right into Foster. She freezes, slightly startled by his presence. “Oh. You spoiled my surprise,” she says, trying to hide her hair.

“You look really nice. That’s a good fit.”

“I wanted to . . .”

“. . . Let me rephrase that,” he says, instantly knowing it was a poor choice of words. “You bring the life out in that dress.”

That takes her aback. She’s speechless and blushing.

“To think that only an hour ago it was dormant on some display rack,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with your hair. It’s perfect.”

“Really? You don’t think it looks like a roll of barbed wire?”

He smiles, “No. May I?” He turns her and braids her hair loosely, leaving the long strands that frame her face. She’s surprised he knows how to do this.

“Were you a beautician in a past life?”

“My mom was. Taught me how to do it on her hair. Part Native American. Likes the simple fixes.”

“You braided your mom’s hair?”

“Still do. When I get to see her. There. It’ll stay until you shake it out.”

She’s still digesting the fact that he braids his mother’s hair. Who does that? She lays a very special kiss on his cheek. “That’s for being a good son.”

Her next kiss finds his lips. But she doesn’t take her time like he did. She goes in with lips slightly opened, head tilted, capturing that one-of-a-kind lip connection. As she pulls back there’s a soft

smacking sound that catches them both by surprise. It’s obviously a first for them both. They look at each other wanting more. More kisses, more hugging, more... them. It’s his move. It’s her

move. They smile like a teenage couple who’s parents left them alone. But at this age they want something more than that. They want the perfect time. He leans in and kisses her on the forehead. She falls into his chest and gets lost in his hug. This is all they need right now. It’s all she needs.

Later, from the cabin, an old song plays out from the rear porch speakers – Hurricane Smith’s, “Oh babe, what would you say.” Lillian drags Stef off for a quick dance. Brizzbee sashays over to the barbecue, finding skewers in need of turning. Foster adds the final touches to the survival kit for the hiking stick.

A short time later, Foster, Stef, Lillian, and Brizzbee eat the skewers under threatening dark skies.

“Feel that?” Stef asks. “So much energy in the air.”

“And rain,” Brizzbee says. “Forecast shows rain tonight. You gonna be alright, Stef?”

She nods her head, chewing down her bite.

“We’ll leave you in the parking lot where we think he parked,” Brizzbee says. “We’ll be watching from our truck.”

“That should work,” she says. “If his scent is there, I’ll find it right away.”

“Then we can cross-reference it to whatever cars were there last night and hopefully find this guy.”

Foster’s been mostly quiet, remembering that Ominous has been on her since she was ten. He knows he’s going to be around. Why wouldn’t he be? Stef takes his hand checking on him. He has his doubts and obvious concerns but this is the safest plan for her.

Foster’s phone rings. He answers it - “Warden Foster. Hello. Hang on! Let me go out front – better service.”

Foster walks to the front of the cabin. “Okay, go ahead. A journalist? What does he want with me? Did he say anything specific about Vermont? Alright. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Brizzbee finds Foster standing in the front yard, considering the phone call. “What’s up?”

“Some journalist wants to talk. Says he knows something about the Vermont thing.”

“A journalist? What makes you think he isn’t fishing for a story?”

“Hell, Brizz, for all I know, he could be the Vermont thing. Nothing could surprise me at this point.”

“Really? You think it might be him?”

“I don’t know,” Foster says.

Stef and Lillian enter the front yard. Foster approaches Stef.

“I have to run into town for about an hour. I’ll be back before it’s time.”

Stef senses something’s up but doesn’t ask about it. Lillian grabs Brizzbee, taking him into the back yard.

Stef snuggles into Foster for a hug. She retreats, feeling renewed. She flattens the creases on his shirt. “It’s starting to rain,” she says, invigorated.

“Where,” he asks, oblivious.

“You’d better go,” she says with a slight command.

He walks to the truck and looks back. She’s looking at the clouds, feeling the energy in the air. A bolt of lightning strikes close by, scaring the hell out of her. He watches, amused as she races to

the porch, laughing at herself. He enters the truck and leaves.

Stef soaks up the wet air from the safety of the porch. She’s energized by the storm and loves every aspect of it. She glances up at the sky, watching it grow darker. This is the perfect part of

the storm, the beginning. The clouds appear to roll over each other, advancing forward, vying

for their own piece of the sky. Stef is in awe of it all.

The breeze picks up. Her hair blows back, but her braid holds nicely. She breathes it all in. The moisture, the energy, the smell of thunder and lightning. It’s all invigorating. The tiny hairs on her arm stand tall. She sweeps her hand over them, feeling the chill it leaves behind. It’s a gift. All this power happening around her and through her. It’s the magic of nature and she’s a part of it. Not apart from it.

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