“I can take him,” he said. “Before he starves to death in the lobby.”
I hesitated.
Tony noticed.
“He’s good, Megan,” he said. “That’s Marcus. He’s been helping out here for a few weeks.”
Ethan shrugged.
“Fine.”
So I nodded.
“Okay.”
Marcus settled Ethan into the chair, secured the cape, and began cutting.
Everything seemed normal.
For about fifteen minutes.
Ethan talked nonstop.
Soccer.
School.
A boy in his class who had eaten a crayon on a dare.
Marcus joked with him and asked the usual questions.
I sat nearby, answering emails on my phone.
Every few minutes, I looked up.
Then Marcus started trimming behind Ethan’s left ear.
[The clippers stopped.]
Almost instantly, Ethan stopped talking too.
That was what caught my attention.
Marcus moved Ethan’s hair aside with his fingers.
Then he stared.
It wasn’t the quick glance someone gives a mole or a scratch.
He was examining something.
Finally, he looked at me through the mirror.
His expression had changed completely.
“What?” I asked.
Marcus barely shook his head.
Then he finished the haircut.
But the joking had stopped.
He worked quietly.
Quickly.
And an uneasy feeling began building inside my chest.
