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they were heavy sleepers—thank goodness. They probably wouldn’t be up before she got back. But she would leave the car for them in case they needed it. Frankly, on a morning as beautiful as this, Judy preferred the bike.
    There weren’t many places to go, other than visiting, in Buffalo Springs. Most of the old downtown was boarded up, or occupied by second-hand merchants disguising themselves as antique stores. Turning west on Main took Judy past three of the city’s most prosperous businesses, the Bisonte Bar, Klausen’s Funeral Parlor, and Dillons grocery store. The other three economic success stories, Bertha’s Café, the Buffalo Burger Drive In, and the Texaco, were all visible and no more than a couple of blocks from her route.
    It wasn’t until she pulled up in front of the Farmers & Merchants Bank that she realized it was far too early for them to be open. She’d been awake since four. She felt like it should be almost noon. The rest of the county continued to run on central daylight savings time and it was only a few minutes after eight. She had two hours to wait. Even a few carefully chosen, magic words didn’t change that.
    The bank wasn’t as impressive as it used to be. The old location, an ornate two-story sandstone, had been abandoned as too expensive to repair a decade ago. The new one stood in a former parking lot a couple of blocks south of Main. Manufactured was what they called these prefab buildings now. It was just a fancy trailer as far as Judy was concerned. She walked over and gave the front door a swift kick. It vibrated alarmingly, but the hours printed on the glass remained the same.
    Patience. She needed a little patience. It wasn’t her strong suit.
    Millie’s beauty parlor was a couple of doors down, and, according to the sign in the front door, was open. Judy hadn’t had her hair done in ages. Suddenly, it felt like a good idea. Something to do instead of pedaling home and twiddling her thumbs, or, worse, snacking her way through the interval at the deli in Dillons or with one of Bertha’s sinful cinnamon rolls.
    â€œJudy English!” Millie was obviously surprised to see her. Millie was sitting in one of her styling chairs—actually a barber’s chair since that had been her establishment’s former function. She still had the mirrors on both walls that let you stare right past infinity to the end of the universe, though now they were festooned with plastic vines and garlands of fake flowers. Millie put the chair back in an upright position and stepped down onto the old-fashioned checkerboard tiles. “What can I do for you?” she asked, folding a magazine and putting it on the counter behind her.
    â€œBlond,” Judy said, “and short.” She pointed at the rack that, in former days, would have held sports and hunting, and maybe even girly magazines. They were all girly magazines now, though in a different way. “Like that,” she said, indicating a cover where a minor movie star with platinum hair smiled beneath her pixie cut.
    Millie raised her eyebrows and stared at the thick auburn curls that, even pulled back and held by a clip, hung below Judy’s shoulders. “You’re kidding,” Millie said.
    Judy’s request surprised even herself. She’d thought she could use a professional trim, a little touching up to make the sprinkles of gray disappear, maybe even a manicure—whatever it took until the bank opened. But suddenly she knew that wasn’t enough. She wanted to be somebody else. She wanted to be someone who would hop on an international flight at a moment’s notice, not a middle-aged, central Kansas mother and educator who hadn’t been outside the state in years. This hairdo defined her look as an adult in Buffalo Springs. That’s not who she was anymore. Just now, she needed to look anything other than Kansan.
    â€œVery short and very