Worth a Thousand Words

by Stacy Adams

  “I don’t know, Shelby,” he said. “But it never happened again. I promise before God. Right after that, I started going to church with you and Indigo, remember? I asked God to forgive me and to take away whatever was in me that had tempted me to go in that direction. I got baptized that year, remember?”

  “So you haven’t dated any other guys since then?” she asked.

  “Not a one, Shelby. Nobody but Indigo. I love her.”

  Shelby leaned forward and searched his eyes. “But this is the reason you’ve been hounding her to get married, isn’t it? You’re trying to convince yourself that you’re not only a Navy man, you’re all man. And you need her help to prove it.”

  Brian felt like a child caught red-handed with a pocketful of forbidden candy. Craig was right—Shelby might be dangerous.

  36

  Indigo settled at the Hair Pizzazz reception desk with a cup of coffee and rifled through her bag.

  It was filled with unopened mail from several days ago that she needed to review. With Aunt Melba coming into the salon one day a week to man the reception desk, she had a little more time on her hands.

  Her aunt wasn’t styling hair yet; but she was thrilled to be back in her business, which was like her second home, and Melba’s clients who were temporarily visiting Eboni or Carlotta were overjoyed to see her.

  Aunt Melba was here this morning, reading her bank statements and answering the phone.

  Indigo pulled out a small stack of letters and began sorting through the information from her graduate school, credit card offers, and other junk mail. She got to one envelope though, and paused.

  It felt pretty thin, so she wasn’t expecting much. But when she opened it and read the first sentence, she jumped up from her seat next to Aunt Melba and started dancing.

  Indigo waved the letter in the air. “It’s a letter from O Magazine, Aunt Melba! The three photos I submitted are going to be featured in the magazine’s December issue.”

  She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Better yet, she should stop dancing and peruse the letter again, just in case she had read it wrong. She held it in front of her and read aloud to Aunt Melba.

  “ ‘Dear Ms. Burns, It is with great pleasure that I write to inform you that you are one of ten photographers from around the nation selected as a winner of the O Magazine Everyday Life Photo contest. Congratulations—you’re coming to New York!’ ”

  By the time Indigo made it to the end, Aunt Melba was clapping.

  “Isn’t . . . that . . . something! Praise . . . God!”

  She stood and held out her arms to give Indigo a hug.

  Indigo’s tears of joy mingled with giggles at her aunt’s enthusiasm. Aunt Melba’s speech had improved greatly, and sometimes she didn’t stutter or experience delays at all. But when she was excited, the words seemed harder to form.

  She sat down and read the letter again.

  Eboni came around the corner and smiled at them. “What’s going on up here? Why weren’t we invited to the early morning party?”

  Aunt Melba pointed at Indigo’s letter. “Indigo’s pictures. . . . will be . . . in 0 Magazine!”

  Eboni seemed surprised. “That’s great—when have you had time to take pictures, though?”

  “While I was here working,” Indigo said. “When you finished with a client, sometimes she came to me to get her picture taken.”

  Indigo was still beaming and still in disbelief. “I sent in three shots from my first week working here—a picture of little Summer getting ready for her pageant, a picture of Mrs. Harrow and the flowers she dropped off, and a picture of Yasmin striking a pose. I just can’t believe it.”

  Aunt Melba grinned. “Get ready, baby. Bigger . . . and better things . . . are coming for you . . . and for Yasmin. Call her now . . . call your parents.”

  Indigo did, and the shrieks from Mama and Yasmin on the other end were nearly deafening.

  “When are we going to New York?!” Yasmin yelled.

  “I’m going to accept an award and finalize a thirty-day internship in two weeks,” Indigo said. “It doesn’t say anything about the models coming along. Sorry!”

  Indigo’s cell phone rang, and she rushed Yasmin and her mother off the salon phone so she could answer it.

  “Indigo, it’s Claude Ingram. With the Jubilant Herald.”

  She paused. Why was he was calling now?

  “Congratulations! The city editor received a press release this morning announcing that you won an O Magazine photography contest. Wow. I guess your eyes are doing okay?”

  “Wonderful,” Indigo responded, trying to remain gracious. “I’m doing great, and as you probably know from the press release, all of my photos featured Jubilant residents, which means I’m helping put our town on the map.”

  “Would you be willing to share them with us?” Claude asked hesitantly. “The executive editor thought it would be neat to run your pictures with the press release.”

  Indigo remained quiet as she tried to process it all. Claude Ingram, who wouldn’t send her out to a water main break to shoot photos, wanted to publish her pictures.

  She was seeing firsthand how God redeemed his children, and she was glad to be in that number.

  37

  Not only did the Jubilant Herald want to publish her winning shots, they also wanted to feature her.

  Claude called back an hour after their initial conversation to ask if he could send a photographer to take her picture.

  Mama, Daddy, Yasmin, and Taryn had joined Indigo and Aunt Melba at the hair salon for an impromptu celebration. They were enjoying coffee, tea, and doughnuts when the second call came.

  Indigo motioned to them as she listened to Claude.

  “He wants to take my picture,” she mouthed to her parents.

  Daddy nodded and mouthed, “Go for it.”

  “Sure, Claude,” she said. “That would be fine. I’m at Hair Pizzazz, on Column Parkway. This is the place where I’ve taken most of my photos all summer, so it’s fitting to do it here anyway.”

  “You have more photos?” he asked.

  “I have plenty more,” Indigo said. “I take candid shots of clients who frequent the hair salon and strike up a conversation with me. It’s fun and it’s different: think about coming to a hair salon to get beautiful and then taking a photo when you’re feeling just that.

  “I was doing it so frequently that I started asking customers to sign photo releases.” Indigo laughed. “I don’t know what I’ll do with all of the images, but it was great to have something ready to submit for the magazine contest at the last minute.”

  Claude was quiet for so long that Indigo wasn’t sure he was still there.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m here,” he said. “I’m glad your summer has turned out okay. Seems like leaving the newspaper was the best thing that could have happened to you.”

  Indigo didn’t respond. Telling him that God would work everything out for your good if you loved him would sound like she was preaching. Instead of uttering the words, she asked God to deliver that message to Claude in a way that he could receive it.

  “Things are going well, and I’m happy—actually overjoyed—right now, having just received this news,” Indigo said. “My eyes are doing well, my photos are being recognized, my family’s doing great, and I’m getting married in December. I couldn’t ask for more.

  “I’ll look forward to seeing one of the newspaper’s photographers, okay? I’ll be here until about four today.”

  Half an hour later, in strolled a handsome brother with hazel eyes and naturally curly dark hair. He had two cameras slung over his shoulder and he was holding the press release about Indigo.

  Yasmin was manning the reception desk when he entered.

  “Are you here to take my sister’s picture?” she asked.

  “Depends on who your sister is,” the man said lightheartedly.

  “Indigo Burns?”

  He nodded. “T
hat’s who I’m looking for.”

  Indigo emerged at that second from the private salon area, where she had been getting a client settled for Carlotta. She was about to offer pleasantries and welcome the man to the salon, but stopped in her tracks.

  It was Max Shepherd, the freelance photographer who had come strolling through the newsroom on her last day there as if he were a company stockholder and God’s gift to photojournalism.

  He was taking her picture? Great.

  She approached him and extended her hand. “Good morning; welcome to Hair Pizzazz. I’m Indigo.”

  She wondered if he would remember her.

  “I know who you are,” he said and smiled. “You were in the newsroom the day I came in to develop some breaking news photos. You were the cause of me almost not getting paid.”

  Indigo frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Apparently you went out on your own and covered the water main break, after the paper had hired me to do it. When the editors saw the shots you had taken from the roof of one of the nearby buildings, my shots looked amateur by comparison.

  “They wound up using mine, though, because you had just resigned and you hadn’t been officially asked to shoot the pictures. I was impressed, though, to almost be upstaged by a new college graduate.”

  “What does my relative youth have to do with anything?” Indigo teased.

  “Clearly nothing!” Max said and laughed. He set his camera bag on the reception desk and unpacked one of his lenses. “I’m still stringing for the newspaper and operating my own photography studio, but O Magazine isn’t pursuing me!”

  Indigo relaxed and allowed herself to admit how handsome he was.

  “Where would you like to take my picture?”

  Mama and Daddy had taken Aunt Melba to lunch. While Yasmin and Taryn manned the phones, Indigo gave Max a brief tour of the salon so he could decide where to position her.

  He chose one of Melba’s red sofas.

  “Grab your camera for me and set it next to you,” Max suggested. “And do you have prints of any of the other photos you’ve taken?”

  “Sure,” Indigo said.

  She got up and grabbed her camera and the folder that held the images she printed. She gave them to the featured salon client the next time she came in for her appointment.

  Max flipped through the photos and selected five. He laid them, and Indigo’s camera, on the seat of the sofa.

  “Now, you go stand behind the couch, perch your elbows up on the back, and put your chin in your hands,” he told Indigo. “I want to get a shot of you leaning over these images, which I’ll spread out in front of you.”

  Indigo was impressed. She did as she was told and waited for him to give her further instructions. She understood now why he was a little cocky. He was good and he knew it.

  “How long have you been a professional photog?” she asked him, between shots.

  “About five years,” he said. “I moved down here from New Jersey to attend Everson College for undergrad and fell in love with the area. I went to grad school in New York at the School of Visual Arts, but wound up coming back here to open my own studio and freelance.”

  Indigo broke her pose and stared at him. “You went to SVA? I start there in late August.”

  He nodded. “I know. I get the alumni newsletter and they list incoming students from various regions so you can connect with them or support them however they need. I saw your name on the list and remembered it from the newspaper. It’s a great school. It will expand your horizons and open up opportunities you never could have imagined—although this O Magazine gig ain’t bad at all.”

  They both laughed and worked together in silence for the next few minutes.

  When Max was done, he pointed to her photos on the sofa.

  “Those are really well done,” he said. “It would be cool if Claude would run them in the Herald as their own feature. Mind if I borrow them and show him?”

  Indigo hesitated. She didn’t know this man or what his true intentions were. Why was he being so friendly?

  He smiled at her. “I’m not a thief or conspirator. I really just want to show Claude. But if you feel more comfortable doing it yourself, consider setting up a meeting and taking them in, okay?”

  Indigo nodded. “Sorry—you know how possessive we artists can be about our work,” she said.

  Max packed up his camera. “I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

  He turned to go, then stopped and walked over to shake her hand. “Congratulations again, Miss Indigo Burns. I look forward to seeing more great things from you.”

  He held her gaze, and her hand, for a few seconds longer than necessary.

  Indigo became flustered. “Um, thank you, Max. I’m honored to have you take my picture. You take care.”

  When he was gone, she sat on the sofa and fanned herself with her hand. What was that all about? Her heart hadn’t fluttered like that since she first met Brian.

  38

  The day had finally come and Brian felt overwhelmed.

  He stood in front of the mirror flecking imaginary dirt from the shoulder of his white uniform and tried to control the emotions that swung from elation to weepiness to relief. He had made it, by the grace of God, and today he would be commissioned into the United States Navy as an officer.

  His bags were packed and stored in the trunk of his car, ready to go. He had exchanged contact information with his bunkmates and a few other classmates.

  His parents had flown in for the ceremony and would be driving back to Austin with him tonight. Indigo was here too, wearing his engagement ring and looking beautiful and happy. She had flown in with her parents and Yasmin.

  This was his day.

  Brian grabbed his black-and-white cap and turned around to take one last look at his tiny room. He snapped a mental picture, hoping he would always remember this space and what he had endured.

  His roommates seemed to be doing the same.

  Todd and Greg hugged him and slapped his back.

  “This is it, men,” Brian said. “Godspeed to both of you.”

  Todd was going to be a Navy weatherman and would be shipping out to Virginia Beach, Virginia, for service. Greg was an engineer like Brian, but wanted to work in intelligence. He was headed to Washington, DC. Brian had received orders, as he had expected, for flight training school in Pensacola, Florida, and he was excited.

  The men fell into single file formation, as if their gunnery sergeant were watching, and walked out of the room.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Todd said and sighed.

  The men crossed the campus and joined other members of their class on the lawn in front of the base gymnasium, where the ceremony would be held because of the sweltering heat.

  Brian saw his family and Indigo’s and acknowledged them with a short wave and nod of his head. As excited as he was, it wasn’t supposed to register on his face.

  He spotted Shelby a few feet away and could tell by the twinkle in her eyes that she too was working hard to contain herself. She would leave here today and head to flight training school in Corpus Christi, Texas, after a brief visit home to Austin.

  Wherever they wound up long term, Brian knew that she would always be his sister-friend, despite the concerns Craig had raised before he graduated and went on to Naval Submarine School in Connecticut. Shelby hadn’t made any promises, but he knew that her love for Indigo would keep her from being vindictive. That revelation had comforted him when he realized that Indigo and Shelby would soon be back to their every-other-day telephone chats, talking about him and anything else that mattered to them.

  Gunnery Sgt. McArthur approached the members of Class 10–08 and ordered them to fall into formation. There was a parade and a drill show and a formal speech to the graduates from the base commander.

  Half an hour later, Brian managed to maintain his composure when he was called forward and asked to take the Navy pledge:

  “I, Brian James Harper, do solemnly
swear to support and defend the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

  When the base commander officially congratulated the new officers, they turned away from the audience and flipped their caps in the air before catching them.

  Friends and family cheered, clapped, and whistled. Brian looked toward the stands and spotted his crew. Indigo waved and blew him a kiss. He grinned and motioned for her, his mother, and the rest of the family to join him.

  When she reached him, Brian gathered Indigo in his arms and gave her a long kiss, unconcerned about who might be watching. Greg came up behind him and slapped his back. “The picture didn’t do her justice, Harper,” he whispered in Brian’s ear. “You two will make a beautiful family.”

  Brian grinned. He was looking forward to it.

  His father and Indigo’s dad approached him and shook his hand. He gathered his dad into a hug and thanked him for all of his support. Brian’s mother and Mrs. Burns were next, and then Yasmin, who looked more and more like Indigo each time he saw her. She was still a shade lighter and two sizes smaller than her older sister, but they were the spitting image of each other.

  “You looking good, girl,” he told her, and she did. She had put on about five pounds, but on her thin frame, even that small amount made a difference. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

  She nodded. “I’m getting ready for your wedding—big brother,” she said and smiled.

  Those words made him feel almost as good as being commissioned. He was starting a new chapter today, and he was thankful.

  This morning, he had asked God to purge his temptations and to help him leave them here in Newport, along with his civilian status, his ties to Craig, and anything else that might hinder him.

  He was Officer Brian Harper now, and life was good.

  39

  With all of the talk and laughter, the two-hour drive from Jubilant to Houston seemed to take just half an hour.

  Brian had driven back to Austin with his parents last week, but was spending this weekend in Jubilant, visiting Indigo and helping with wedding preparations. He was staying with Gabe and Rachelle, and they had offered to treat him and Indigo to dinner.