Worth a Thousand Words (13 page)

She walked in with a group from their class that included two other women and three guys. Brian hadn’t had a chance to get acquainted with them outside of their mandatory meal, class, and training times.

They all were dressed casually, and Shelby looked particularly striking in a pair of form-fitting jeans, a black tank top, and black stiletto sandals.

Her eyes widened when she saw Brian. She waved and smiled.

Her group settled in a booth across the restaurant from Brian’s and quickly began perusing menus. Brian checked them out, trying to figure out who was with whom.

Why did it matter? he finally asked himself. Shelby was a grown woman, and an officer candidate, at that. She could hold her own.

He turned his attention back to the guys at his table and was trying to decide on dessert when a tap on the shoulder startled him.

He looked up and into Craig Miller’s eyes. His stomach fell to his feet.

“Harper, how’s it going?” Craig asked, in the deep baritone that Brian remembered from their Tuskegee days.

Brian stuck out his hand and shook Craig’s. “It’s going great. How you doing, man?”

The guys at his table seemed to be waiting for an introduction.

“Members of Class zero-ten, zero-eight, this is Candidate Officer Craig Miller, an old college buddy of mine.”

The men greeted him properly and resumed their meal, but Craig stood there and asked Brian about his future plans and life after OCS.

“I’m hoping I’ll get sent to Pensacola,” Brian said. He decided to share only what was necessary. “What about you?”

One of Brian’s comrades pulled a chair from a nearby table and motioned for Craig to sit, next to Brian.

This is going to be a long night
, Brian thought as Craig slid into the seat
.

Craig told him he wanted to work in submarines and would likely be shipped to a naval base that specialized in sub training when he completed OCS in another three weeks.

“I can’t wait,” he said. “This has been a good experience, but I’m ready to move on.”

Brian nodded, remembering he had felt the same way just this morning.

He wanted to ask Craig what he had been up to since graduation, and whether he was married or engaged, or if Player, with a capital
P,
was still his middle name. But none of that was his business.

Craig took the moment of awkward silence as his cue. He stood up and shook Brian’s hand again.

“Good to see you, Harper,” he said. “You’re looking good. Next week you and your classmates will be Senior Candidate Officers, showing some new recruits the drill. Have fun, but don’t get drunk with power.”

They both chuckled, then Craig strode across the room to join other officers of his ranking. He nodded at Shelby when he passed her table. She smiled at him and looked in Brian’s direction.

He read something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite interpret. Before he could figure it out, she turned her attention back to her friends and seemed to shut out the world.

24

I
ndigo slid the key into the lock of Hair Pizzazz’s front door and sighed.

Mama’s encouraging words rang in her ears: This too would pass; everything happened for a reason and a season, and she was going to have to not just endure, but learn how to thrive despite life’s challenges.

Indigo went inside, turned on the lights, and set her purse on the receptionist desk in the foyer.

“Welcome to Hair Pizzazz,” she said softly to herself. “Aunt Melba, I’m doing this for you.”

The low-heeled black strapless sandals she wore with her dressy blue jeans and black ruffled top created a staccato beat as Indigo walked through the empty salon, eyeing everything as if for the first time. The red leather sofas in the waiting area that had been replaced several times since Melba had made them one of her salon signatures years ago; the original pieces of art from Africa, India, and Europe that graced the walls; pictures of Aunt Melba with some of her famous clients, including Houston’s own gospel artist Yolanda Adams.

Indigo returned to the reception area and nearly jumped out of her skin when the door opened.

“It’s just me,” Rachelle said and stepped inside. She opened her arms to offer Indigo a hug. “I heard that Uncle Charles designated you as the temporary business manager, and I decided to come over this morning to offer my support. You can do this and do it well.”

Indigo received the embrace, then stepped back to look at Rachelle.

“I know I can,” Indigo said. “This is just a little fork in the road I hadn’t anticipated.”

Rachelle smiled. “I’ve learned that sometimes the turns we didn’t anticipate can lead us to our biggest blessings.” She grabbed Indigo’s hands. “Come on, let’s pray.”

And they did—for Indigo’s temporary role at Hair Pizzazz, for Aunt Melba’s complete return to health and to the salon she loved, for the salon and its staff to be a blessing to everyone who crossed its threshold, for God to give Indigo the wisdom and the courage to handle whatever life brought her way.

Rachelle was teary-eyed by the time they finished their joint petition. She wiped her eyes.

“What’s it going to look like for the optometrist to have red eyes while she’s examining patients?” she said and laughed. “Let me get to work. I’ll call you later and check on you.”

Yasmin was entering as Rachelle prepared to exit. Rachelle gave her a big hug and kissed her cheek.

“You have a wonderful day, young lady, you hear me?”

Yasmin smiled and nodded.

When Rachelle was gone, Yasmin turned to Indigo.

“Well, you’ve got me most of the day,” she said. “Daddy dropped me off and told me to help out with whatever you needed to get settled into a routine.”

Indigo smiled. She locked the door to the salon and motioned to Yasmin.

“Follow me,” she said.

She led Yasmin to a small kitchen area in the back and handed her a can of coffee.

“Can you make a pot?” Indigo asked. “Now that Jubilant has gone big-time and rated its own Starbucks, I could have stopped there this morning. But given that I’m only temporarily employed, I thought better of it.”

The sisters laughed.

When the coffee was ready, Indigo poured herself a cup and offered Yasmin one.

The teenager shook her head. “No thanks. I’m a tea drinker.”

“Sorry, there’s none here,” Indigo said. “Come on, let’s get back up front, in case customers decide to show up early.”

Indigo unlocked the door again and sat behind the reception desk. She turned on the computer so it could boot up.

Yasmin grabbed a folding chair tucked in a corner and set it behind the desk, next to Indigo. She shrugged when Indigo raised an eyebrow.

“If I’m your assistant, I need to act the part!”

Indigo stared at the girl, then asked the question she had been wrestling with since learning about Yasmin’s struggle with bulimia.

“You okay?”

Yasmin shrugged again and looked down at her hands. “This is so embarrassing,” she said.

“Everything is embarrassing when you’re fourteen, Yas,” Indigo said. “Really, though, I need to know that you’re going to work through this and get better. Making yourself throw up after you eat may not seem like a big deal, but bulimia can kill you if it throws your body out of whack. Seriously.”

Yasmin nodded. “Mama gave me some brochures and a few websites with information on eating disorders and all that. I don’t think I have a ‘disorder,’ but I know I was headed that way. I want to turn things around, but I don’t want to be fat.”

“Look at our bone structure, Yasmin,” Indigo said. “We’re not built to be thick, so I think that should be the least of your concerns. You can monitor what you eat to make sure you’re healthy and maintaining a normal weight, but beyond that, you shouldn’t have to diet or throw up—not as long as you have that teenage metabolism.”

“Mama said she wants me to talk to a counselor, but I’m not crazy,” Yasmin said.

“No, you’re not, and we want to keep it that way,” Indigo teased. “There’s nothing wrong with working through your eating and purging habits with a professional counselor who can help you find ways to stop the cycle. If talking to someone opens your eyes to what may be stressing you out or triggering you to hurt yourself in this way, it’s worth it.”

Yasmin didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know. All I want to do is model and do photo shoots in cool locations, and walk the runway in the premier fashion shows of each season, wearing clothes so well that people drool.”

Indigo contained the smile that she knew Yasmin would consider condescending. If the desire to become a model would motivate Yasmin to get well, she wasn’t going to dash her hope.

“Well, why can’t you?” Indigo asked. “The only thing that could stop you would be you.”

Indigo leaned toward Yasmin and stroked her cheek.

“Tell you what. You work on getting better, on getting well, and when you get a clean bill of health from your doctor or your counselor, I’ll take some fabulous photos of you and send them to the top modeling agencies in New York.”

Yasmin’s eyes widened and she sat up straighter. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” She remembered that her camera was in the back of her SUV. “You know what? I’ve got my camera with me. Let me take a few practice shots of you now, before this place gets full.”

Indigo trotted out to her Honda and retrieved the camera bag from the spot she’d placed it in two weeks ago, just before her eye surgery. On her way back inside, she sent an arrow prayer to heaven.

She didn’t know a soul in the modeling industry, but if this would save her sister, she would find a way to make some connections.

25

H
alf an hour after she began snapping pictures of a regal and sassy Yasmin, Eboni, Carlotta, and Carmen showed up for work.

Yasmin was lounging on a sofa, gazing heavenward when they strolled into the foyer.

“This is still a hair salon, isn’t it?” Carlotta asked.

Indigo laughed and lowered the camera.

“Of course,” she said. “Yasmin and I are just playing around, that’s all. I’ll be here most days now, helping with the day-to-day operations for the rest of the summer.”

Eboni tucked her purse and an oversized shoulder bag in a cabinet beneath the reception desk.

“Good. We need some help managing the phones and scheduling appointments while we work,” Eboni said.

“How’s Melba doing?” Carmen asked.

“Better each day, Carmen,” Indigo said. “She’s fighting her way back here as fast as she can.”

Eboni’s first customer arrived a few minutes later, and Carmen led her to the back so she could shampoo the woman’s hair. The customer was a college student from Oklahoma, working in a nearby law office for the summer.

Carlotta’s first client of the day was Mrs. Greer, Indigo’s eleventh grade history teacher.

“I didn’t know you were a client here!” Indigo said and gave her a hug.

“I didn’t know you worked here—weren’t you one of my hotshot students?” Mrs. Greer asked.

It struck Indigo how this must look—lauded high school and college graduate with a bright future in photography returns to her hometown to work in a hair salon rather than pursue her dream.

“I’m just helping out here for the summer, Mrs. Greer,” she said. “My aunt owns this place, but is recovering from a serious illness. I’ll be off to bigger and better things soon.”

But that answer wasn’t enough for Mrs. Greer. She put a hand on her plush hip and leaned forward on the desk.

“Like what?”

Before Indigo could respond, Yasmin interjected, “Excuse me, Mrs. Greer. I checked the calendar and Carlotta has you down for an eleven a.m. appointment. You’re an hour early.”

“What?! That throws off my entire day,” she said.

Thankful for the shift in focus, Indigo pushed her chair back and trotted around the desk.

“Let me run back there and see what she can do, okay?”

By the time Indigo had resolved the dilemma to Mrs. Greer’s satisfaction, Yasmin had rescheduled two other appointments and was preparing to run to the barbershop across the street to get change for a $100 bill a customer needed to break.

Indigo welcomed a woman and a young girl who was the lady’s carbon copy. Melba didn’t allow customers to bring children to the salon unless they were being served. Indigo smiled at them as she toyed with how to share the news.

“I’m a client of Melba’s and this is my regular appointment day, but I’m giving it to Summer,” the woman said.

Whew. Thank you, God. No confrontation necessary.

“Your name is Summer?” Indigo said to the child, who looked like she was about five. “That is a pretty name for a pretty girl. What would you like to have done today?”

Summer, who had seemed shy at first, perked up and went into overdrive. “I brought my Barbie to show you,” she said and whipped out a brown doll with flowing brownish blonde locks. “See how she has the ponytail on top and it’s all curly? Can we do that?”

Indigo looked at the mother and saw that she wasn’t the only one stifling her laughter.

“I’m not sure, Summer. That will be up to your mom and to Miss Eboni, the lady who’s doing your hair today. I can’t wait to see it when she’s finished. You make sure you stop by here before you leave, okay? In fact, I have my camera here. I may just take your picture.”

Summer jumped up and down in excitement. Indigo looked at her mother.

“That’s a lucky little girl. Is today her birthday or something?”

“No,” the mother said. “She’s competing in the Little Miss Jubilant pageant down at the new performing arts center over the weekend, but she’s taking her formal portrait today, to display at the event. So if we like what Eboni does with her hair, we’ll probably be back on Saturday to get her to style it again for the big day.”

Indigo had never met a pageant mom before. This woman appeared normal, but Summer already seemed caught up in her own hype.

“So much for a photo from an amateur photographer, huh?”

Indigo said and smiled. “Just let me know what you decide about Saturday and we’ll put it on the books for you, okay?”