Worth a Thousand Words

by Stacy Adams

  “We’ve been watching you and praying for you too, Indigo,” he said. “Hearing the news at twenty-two that you have a chronic illness is pretty tough. That’s a lot to handle at your age. But I have six words for you baby: Get up and dust yourself off.”

  Indigo was stunned. Where had that missive come from? “Daddy, what do you—”

  “I mean that we’ve let you wallow in your pity and grief, or whatever you want to call it, long enough,” Daddy said. “We understand that you’re feeling bad about the glaucoma diagnosis and about what happened with the newspaper internship, but guess what? The world keeps revolving and we have to keep moving with it.

  “So you’ve got a little health issue to contend with—you can handle it,” he said. “So you had a minor career setback—minor because it was an internship, not a full-time job—you can get over it. So you’re wondering whether to go to grad school, get married, or both—if you get your head out of the sand, God will make his vision for your life plain. You have to be open to hearing from him.

  “So buck up and get up. It’s time, you know.”

  Indigo felt strangely calm about being knocked out of her selfabsorption. “Yes, I know, Daddy. It’s time to be a big girl now. But how?”

  He and Mama traded glances before Mama responded.

  “We’re not going to figure it all out for you, because you’re an adult now and you need to learn to make your own decisions, deal with the consequences of your mistakes, and accept responsibility for your life,” Mama said.

  “That’s right,” Daddy interjected. “A lot of this you’ve got to do on your own. We do have one thing lined up for you, though, and that’s a job.”

  Indigo sat up straighter. “You’re kidding. Who is going to hire me?”

  Daddy smiled.

  “Aunt Melba,” he said. “She needs help keeping the business side of the salon on track until she’s ready to return. We discussed and fretted over who should temporarily take over and whether we needed to find an outside professional when God placed your name on my heart, and your mother’s—unbeknownst to either of us until we talked two days later.

  “It’s time to get out of that bed, Daughter,” Daddy said. “You’re going to work at Hair Pizzazz. As you know, the shop is closed on Mondays and opens at ten a.m. sharp Tuesday. You need to be there by nine.”

  23

  Six down, six more to go.

  Brian kept track of how many weeks he had left in Rhode Island to reassure himself that soon he’d be moving to the next phase of his dream. Not that he was faltering physically or mentally. He was just ready to get back to the real world.

  This morning, he and his classmates had been ordered out of bed before dawn to run three seven-minute miles. Never mind that it was Saturday, or that most of them had spent the night before in the city, drinking and picking up women—this was their reminder that they had to be on call, ready to perform well whenever necessary.

  Brian had joined his bunkmates, Todd and Greg, for dinner at the Brick Alley Pub before coming back to campus to catch a movie in the rec room. He had spent the rest of the evening on his cell phone, catching up with all that had been going on with Indigo.

  He couldn’t believe her dad had ordered her to go to work. Then again, Mr. Burns was right—she didn’t need to wallow in self-pity the whole summer. She’d never bat another home run if she didn’t step up to the plate again. Brian hadn’t told her that, though. He had been sympathetic and reassuring.

  It didn’t escape him that Indigo had failed to mention their wedding. He hadn’t prodded. Maybe her going to work would be just the thing to make her feel better and get everything finalized.

  This morning’s run was nearing an end, and his thoughts shifted to what he would do the rest of today. Gunnery Sgt. McArthur had given the class liberty until Monday morning.

  “Are you ready to head back, Harper?” Greg wanted to shower and clean up after their run.

  “Yeah, Kemper,” Brian said. He fell in step with his bunkmate, and they jogged from the training field to the barracks in less than ten minutes.

  “What are you going to do with your free time?” Brian asked.

  Greg grinned. “Eat some lobster, meet some ladies, and remember what it’s like to party. I hung out a little while last night, but something told me that McArthur was going to pull a stunt like he did this morning. I didn’t want to be in too bad a shape to perform. Now that that’s over, it’s on.”

  Brian shook his head. “I’m trying to keep my nose clean. I want the leaders to notice me for all of the right reasons. Besides, my girl at home is planning our wedding. Ain’t nothing here for me.”

  They reached the barracks and stopped on the front lawn of the building to catch their breath.

  “Come on, Harper,” Greg said. “Live a little. You aren’t married yet. If you don’t have a little fun now, when will you?”

  Brian laughed and led the way inside. “Who said fun had to end with ‘I do’?”

  Greg sat on his bunk and removed his sneakers. “What makes your lady so special?”

  Brian sat across from him, on his own bunk, and leaned back to grab a framed picture of Indigo from a makeshift nightstand.

  On the photo, they were snuggling, and Indigo’s smiling face filled the frame. He passed it to Greg.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you, man,” Brian said. “Just so you know her when she visits next weekend, this is Indigo.”

  Greg nodded and passed the picture back to Brian. “She have any sisters?”

  Brian laughed and stood up to stretch.

  “Too young for you, my friend,” he said. “Listen, I’ll join you and the guys for dinner tonight and decide what to do from there.”

  Hours later, they wound up at a restaurant that played live music, and Brian was glad he had come.

  The riffs from the reggae band and the camaraderie among senior officer candidates and OCS leaders who were usually stonefaced and barking orders reminded Brian that they were real people too.

  Brian enjoyed a plateful of grilled shark, roasted vegetables, and potato salad, and ordered a draft beer to wash it down. He wasn’t a regular drinker, but tonight he thought he’d treat himself. Besides, he didn’t want everyone ragging on him for guzzling soda instead.

  Just as he took his first sip, he looked up and into Shelby’s eyes.

  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

  Indigo 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 w
eeks 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

  Half 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.”