Donovan (2 page)

"Hey
Memphis!" came a cheerful voice from the back of the shop.

I smiled
as I strode past the counter holding the cash register and appointment book and
offered a short wave to
Dori
, who at the moment swept
wisps of hair from under the chair at the last station. The beauty shop wasn't
large, but was big enough for four cutting stations, a sink and a reclining
type chair for shampoos, two automatic hair dryers, and of course, the cash
register and appointment stand up front. Both long walls of the beauty shop
were lined with mirrors, each station divided by a staggered partition wall
decorated with what I liked to call do-dads and gee-
gaws
.
In other words, anything that
Dori
could get her
hands on from local yard sales and antique shops. The décor was a mish-mash of
old copper cow bells, harness and tack, small farm tools, and antique photos of
former residents, some dating back to the turn of the twentieth century. The
shop was bright, cheerful, and always welcoming, whether the heat of the north
Texas summer blazed down on you, or cold winds from the north brought in frigid
weather, ice, and snow.

"You
can have this chair,"
Dori
gestured to the chair
and station she had just cleaned.
 

I glanced
over my shoulder to make sure no customer that had arrived at the shop before
me was waiting, and then nodded, making my way to the last station. Two of the
other stations were busy, and I offered a silent hello to the girls, busily
snipping hair. One of the beauticians was giving old man Garrett his usual crew
cut, while the other gave Melanie Hansen, a town matriarch, her weekly trim. I
smiled and gave a small wave when Garrett saw me and offered a boisterous
hello. He could've gone to the barber shop just down the street of course, but
Dori
and all the ladies who came here knew that he enjoyed
coming in, listening to the female gossip, and of course, admiring the ladies
who not only cut his hair, but those reflected in the mirrors behind him. He
was a harmless old man, always ready with a smile, a joke, and, if you let him,
he could talk your ear off for hours.

"I'll
be done in just a sec,"
Dori
said, bending down
with a dustpan in one hand, the broom in the other.

I nodded
and sat down at the last station as
Dori
finished
with her sweeping and put the broom and the dustpan away, then disappeared
behind a door to quickly wash her hands. I leaned back in the chair and put my
feet up on the bar that extended out from under the front of the chair, staring
at my reflection in the mirror. My shoulder-length blonde hair was giving me
fits, and I was ready for a change. I decided I wanted to go ash brown. I
needed a change, and although I knew that my proposed changes were merely
superficial, I hoped that they would make me feel better.

I was
still reeling from Frank Sanderson's death. I'd been working for old man
Sanderson for the past six years, doing his books for him. He had gotten so
busy with the running of the ranch. His wife, Lisa, was no spring chicken
herself, already overwhelmed with her
chores,
and with
what I thought might be some form of mild dementia. Years ago I had offered to
take over the accounting and finances for the Rocker S Ranch and Frank had
wholeheartedly agreed, stating that none of his kids could count without using
their fingers. Oh, I supposed Shane could have done it, as he still lived on
the ranch – the bunkhouse and not the main house – but he always admitted, with
a laugh, that math and finances were definitely not his strong suit. He had
been more than happy to relinquish any of that responsibility to me. Shane
liked to be outside, winter or summer, riding the horses, cutting and branding
the cattle, out on the range.

I had
known the
Sandersons
since I was little. I had dated Donovan
Sanderson, the middle brother, all through high school, and had stayed true to
him when he went off to college in Ohio. He had come home several times during
his college breaks and I had always hoped that he would come back to Stinnett
for good when he was done. It wasn’t to be. Gradually, I had noticed that he
was pulling away. Not from me so much as from the expectations that his father
had for him to take over the running of the ranch. I had been around enough to
hear many of the familiar arguments that occurred between father and son before
Donovan had skipped town for good nearly eight years ago.

"How
you doing today, Memphis?"

I
shrugged.
"Ready for a change."
I gazed up
at
Dori's
reflection in the mirror. Our eyes met.
"Did you hear about Frank?"

Dori
shook her head. "No," she
said. "What's up?"

"He
died day before yesterday," I said quietly, fighting back the tears that
threatened to spill over my eyelids at the words. I had come to adore, even
love, Frank over the years, and felt just as close to Lisa, who now wandered
around the ranch house as if in a daze. The night Frank passed
away,
I had stayed at the ranch house, along with Shane and
Cameron, to offer Lisa whatever support and comfort I could. Julie and Tammy
had also come to visit, but didn't stay overnight, as they had their own
obligations and responsibilities. The only person missing from the family
gathering that night had been Frank, of course, and Donovan.

I hadn't
seen Donovan in eight years, and every time I thought of him I was rather
surprised that he had never come home once since that morning he had left so
long ago. It was as if he had just dropped off the face of the earth—

"Oh
no!"
Dori
exclaimed. "What happened?"

I gave a
slight shrug, staring at my red-eyed reflection in the mirror. "Probably a
heart attack, but the coroner wants to do an autopsy because he was found lying
out in the old barn—"

"Don't
tell me that it was Lisa who found him that way?"
Dori
asked
,
her brow furrowed with concern.

I shook my
head. "No, one of the ranch hands found him," I explained. "Lisa
was in the kitchen fixing breakfast." Again I felt a warm flood of tears
in my eyes as I shook my head in stunned amazement. "But
Dori
, Lisa's just lost! She wanders around the house as if
she's still looking for him…"
Dori
placed her
hands on my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"That's
so sad," she sighed. "They’ve been married, what, like 40
years?"

I nodded.
"Fifty-something.
Donovan told me once that they had
met in high school just before the Second World War."

"Have
you heard from him?"

Again, I
shook my head, as thoughts and memories of Donovan, our years of dating, and
the love I had felt for him - once, a long time ago, came pouring back.
"Not a peep," I said. “I don’t even know if anyone knows where he is
now. But I don't think he'll ever come back."

"What
makes you think that?"
Dori
asked.

I sighed.
"I don't know if I ever told you, but after he left, I wrote him letters.
For a while I knew he was living in Ohio, not far from the college he attended,
but about a year after he graduated from the university, he just up and
disappeared. I know that Lisa occasionally talked to him, but she didn't tell
Frank."
Dori
played with my hair a little bit,
fluffing it with her fingers as she stared at my reflection in the mirror.

"What
happened between those two?" she asked. "What could've been so
horrible as to cut off all Donovan's communication with his family? He never
even communicates with his brothers or sisters?"

"Not that
I know of," I replied. "I'm not sure exactly what straw it was that
broke the camel's back, but I do know that Donovan and his dad had several
rather large arguments about his intention to leave the ranch and start his own
business."

"I
remember when you and Donovan used to date,"
Dori
smiled. "You guys made the cutest couple. Donovan was so handsome with his
wind-swept dark hair, those gorgeous blue eyes, and that perpetual tan he had
year-round. And you, Memphis, were always the belle of the ball, weren’t you?
That blonde hair of yours, your green eyes, and that perky little upturned nose
dotted with freckles always turned the boys’ attention your way."

I glanced
once again at
Dori's
reflection in the mirror.
"I wasn't a big flirt and you know it," I grinned. "Besides, I'm
ready for a change. If you've got time, I want to go ash brown today."
Dori
tilted her head slightly to the side, pursing her lips
as she squinted at my reflection.
 

"I
think light ash brown would suit your bone structure and skin tone
wonderfully," she said.

She shook
out a clean plastic apron and placed it over me and fastened it securely around
my neck. "And I want a cut," I stated abruptly, nodding at my own image.
Yes, I needed a definite change. "Short. Like pixie short."

"Sure,
I can do you. You sure you're up to it?"

I sighed.
"At this point, I'm not sure I'm up to anything. But, life goes on,
doesn't it? I've got to work at the restaurant tonight, and tomorrow I need to
find out what's going on with the autopsy and then I need to sit down with Lisa
and ask her about funeral and burial arrangements."

"Did
they already have plots picked out?"
Dori
asked.

"I'm
not sure," I said. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I was going to miss
Frank - his booming laugh, his comforting presence, and most of all, the deep
sound of his voice. Donovan's voice was just like his dad's, and I felt a new,
burgeoning ache in my heart. Frank's death had brought emotions and feelings to
the forefront that I had pushed away for years. I had loved Donovan with all my
heart and soul. I had thought we were going to be married, and then, from one
day to the next, he was gone.
Out of my life.
Not a
word.

"You
okay, Memphis?”
Dori
asked. Her question jarred me out
of my self-pity, and I glanced up at her face in the mirror, realizing that
tears were streaming down my cheeks and my breath was coming in small, quiet,
hiccupping sobs.
Dori
leaned down and enveloped me in
a gentle hug, and I grabbed her hands and held on tight. "I miss him so
much," I choked out.

"Frank?"
Dori
asked.

I nodded.
"And Donovan too.”

Two hours
later, I stared at a new me. "I look quite different, don't I?" I
asked.

"Light
brown hair certainly suits you,"
Dori
agreed.
"How's the length?" She ran her fingers through the short cut,
tweaking and fluffing here and there.

I turned
to try and see my profile better, and
Dori
handed me
a mirror so that I could gauge the length of my hair at the back.
Dori
had run her fingers through my hair, giving it a
little bit of lift and a funky bounce.

"Perfect,"
I commented. "I was always sweeping my hair back in a ponytail, so I
figured why not just cut it all off and save myself the trouble? I like
this." I meant it. I did like it. The light brown color wasn't too dark
and looked natural, and I was very pleased with the results.

"This
will last about three months, depending on how often you wash your hair,"
Dori
said. "Of course, come in any time you think you
need to touch up."

I stared
at the new me, not really surprised that I felt a little different, but that
deep-seated heartache that I felt at Frank's passing and Donovan's loss still
tugged at my heart. Nevertheless, the change was a start, and just what I
needed to snap me out of my doldrums. I had a busy and challenging week ahead
of me, what with helping Lisa and family members with the funeral and burial
plans. Then, I would need to speak to one of the brothers or sisters about the
ranch finances.

The hard
truth was that the ranch was going under. Frank hadn't wanted anyone to know,
least of all the boys. He had sheltered Lisa from the truth for several years.
I was the only one who knew about it, other than Frank of course, but he had
sworn me to secrecy. I had been tempted several times to try to contact Donovan
and let him know, but every time I asked Lisa for his contact information, she
had busied herself with other chores and told me she would get to it, but she
never did. I couldn't really blame her.

The family
had been dealt a blow when Donovan abruptly left not only the ranch, but
Stinnett and Texas behind. For a while, his brothers and sisters had attempted
to maintain communication, but within a couple of years, their one-sided
efforts had grown fewer and further in between. Before long, no one spoke of Donovan,
least of all to Frank. I'd heard Julie and Tammy talking to Lisa several times
about him, and it appeared that they were kept appraised of his rare phone
calls letting his mom know that he was okay, but other than that, there had not
been much news. I had no idea what Donovan had been doing with
himself
in the intervening years. I didn't know whether he
was married, had kids, or where he was living. That hurt. His abrupt departure
out of my life had cut me so deeply that even now, eight years later, I felt
the pang of his loss.