8
Bruce steered his bike into an empty parking spot in front of the Hair Club. The glowing red sign over the glass door reflected his mood. He was numb from the seething knot of regret in his belly. Sharon was probably dead. They’d been through a lot together over the years, but too many people had dismissed her as some sultry airhead. She was a person, damn it, and he loved her.
It was still early. The mall full of shops wouldn’t open for another hour, but he could see Trudy through the windows of the hair shop, sweeping the floor with a wooden-handled broom. The broom’s blue plastic bristles were well worn. She swept like someone on a mission to do damage. Her full brown curls hid her eyes, her attention focused on the floor.
Bruce slipped off his helmet as he dismounted his motorcycl
