Wave Good-Bye

by Lila Dare

  “Can you believe it?” LaReesa gave a loud and unladylike snort of derision. “What a turkey. And will you look at all the clients in the waiting area! Can you believe it? They’re all hip to the news. They’re hoping to see if Wynn still works here!”

  Our attention turned to the waiting area, where customers jockeyed for space on gray leather chairs.

  LaReesa did a quick scan of our surroundings before ducking her head and cupping a hand over her mouth to speak quietly. “The HQ management team is in the back room. Working on damage control. Wynn had access to our entire client list. He was in on all of corporate’s plans for expansion. Knows which markets they’re considering. All their upcoming promotions and ad schedules. You can bet he’ll take all that with him when he marries Eve. Snippets will make out like a bunch of bandits!”

  “I-If he leaves, who will be our supervisor?” I wondered.

  “They already decided to bring that mealy mouthed Jenny Farquar in from Jacksonville, Florida. I’ve heard her specialty is tattling on people,” LaReesa said. “At least that’s what my cousin Shereena told me. She works in the same district. Wonder who’ll be the first to get in trouble? I sure hope it ain’t me!”

  And she walked back to her station.

  LaReesa’s cousin had been right on the money. Jenny “By the Book” Farquar was a major pain. She had no creativity at all, no common sense, and a strictly by-the-book attitude. She also lacked a sense of humor and tact. In short, she was absolutely wrong for this business, or any business that relied on creative people. I’d learned at my mom’s knee that creative people needed a light hand on the reins. If you pulled too hard on the bit, they spent more time bucking you off than moving forward at a trot.

  Under Jenny’s “supervision,” I learned not to take any chances. The slightest problem morphed into a big deal, whether it was a change in schedule or a customer with an expired coupon. It doesn’t matter, I told myself. Never again would I let myself care. I was through with being vulnerable. I’d learned my lesson, and I had the battle scars to prove it.

  I grew more and more withdrawn. As the weeks passed, I missed St. Elizabeth with an emotional pang that gnawed at me like hunger. Jenny proved a miserable excuse for a boss. One day, after she chewed me out in front of a customer, LaReesa walked over and asked, “Why do you put up with this? Didn’t you say your mama runs a salon? Shoot, if I had somewhere else to go, I wouldn’t let the door hit me on the backside as I left. I’d be out of here in a flash.”

  With a jolt, I realized she was right. My marriage was over, and running into Hank caused all sorts of headaches. My new lover had dumped me very publicly for a woman with money and clout. My apartment was small and I had a forty-five minute commute to work. The hours at Sassoon were horrible, and my new boss…well, let’s say we didn’t cotton to each other and leave it at that.

  What was keeping me here? Pride? Ego?

  Inertia.

  Then I caught the flu. Day after day, I stayed in bed, sweating and shivering. I quit answering the phone. Vonda and Mom panicked when they hadn’t heard from me in days. Von hopped in the car, drove the five hours to Atlanta, and pounded on my door until I answered.

  “Good Lord. What on earth?” she pushed past me, surveyed the place (which she hadn’t seen previously), took stock of me, and in three hours, all my belongings were packed. Vonda bundled me into the passenger seat and drove me home. Home to Violetta’s.

  A month later, I started as a stylist in my mother’s beauty shop. In the back of my head, I’d always known that Mom was a fair boss, who knew instinctively how to run a salon. There was no backbiting, no malicious gossip or attempts at stealing customers. All of us pulled together as a team to help and support each other. After my time at Sassoon, Mom’s salon was a cool breeze of goodness brushing away the rotten crumbs of my former existence.

  Violetta’s was more than a job to me. It was a balm to my wounded soul, a haven for my spirit, and the perfect place of employment.

  Now I’d gone and ruined it all by inviting Lisa Butterworth to “help” us with our social marketing.

  Chapter Twenty

  “SOUNDS LIKE WYNN GOODMAN IS THE SCUM OF THE earth,” said Agent Dillon.

  I shrugged. “He certainly used me.”

  “You seem to have bad luck with the men in your life. I think you deserve better.”

  What did that mean? Was he volunteering for the job?

  I couldn’t look him in the face, so I answered the rest of his questions while staring down at my feet. We went back over the timeline of my actions on the evening that Lisa died. That’s when I remembered, “I saw Wynn and Lisa arguing. In the parking lot.”

  “Tell me more. Could you hear what they were saying? How close were they standing to each other?” Marsh asked in a soft but urgent voice.

  A vise clamped my throat. I choked out the answers, but it was hard. Really hard. No matter what Wynn had done to me, I didn’t think he was capable of murder, and I told Marsh as much. The law man’s expression never changed, although I could read his mind. He was thinking that I wasn’t over Wynn.

  But I was. Sort of.

  I would always have a soft spot for the man, because he reminded me that I was a desirable woman. Beyond that, I couldn’t stand him.

  “If you think of something or you need anything, call me. Any time of the day or night.” Marsh took out a business card and wrote a number on the back. “Do you need a ride back to the salon?”

  “No,” I said. Realizing how terse it sounded, I added, “I need the fresh air. Thank you anyway.”

  He held the door open for me. “Take care of yourself, Grace Ann. And watch out. There’s a killer out there. It might be a one-time strike, a personal vendetta, but once a person crosses that line they change. Give your mother my best, please.”

  Standing ramrod straight, he nodded at me, his tan skin a handsome contrast to the pure white of his dress shirt.

  Walking back from the SEPD, I tried not to think about Lisa. Instead, I turned my mind to other pressing matters, like losing my mother. If marrying Walter would make Mom happy, that was fine by me. But I hoped she would reconsider giving up on the shop. Maybe I could talk her into letting me run Violetta’s in her absence—if the historic register problem could be resolved, and I thought it could. I couldn’t imagine the historic register demanding that she undo what she’d done before the house was on the protected list.

  If they demanded the house be returned to its original floor plan, we could move the salon. Then I remembered the business plan I’d drawn up last year when I briefly considered moving away and starting my own salon. The cost of lease-hold improvements had stunned me then, so what might the costs be now? In the aftermath of Horatio, every builder and contractor in town asked for top dollar. Their services were in high demand. My own meager savings had dwindled as the hurricane caused us to shut our doors in the days before and after the emergency.

  My pace slowed as I realized I might not have a choice in this matter. If Mom decided to walk away and marry Walter, I might need to find another job. If she stayed, I might have to go without a paycheck or take a reduction in pay until she could fix the family home or build out a new shop. A yellow leaf drifted down from the branch of an old maple and fell onto my shoulder. Others crunched under my feet.

  “To everything, there is a season,” I sang. A time to grow, to reap, to rest. A time to scrub baseboards. A time to say thanks. After all, we’d been lucky that the hurricane had passed us by.

  But now it felt like another storm was brewing.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  THE LAVENDER AND GREEN “VIOLETTA’S” SIGN WAS barely visible beyond an old hydrangea bush, but one glimpse of the colors sent a happy buzz through me. Taking the front steps two at a time, I bounded up them, only to be caught short when I reached our front door. The “Open” sign had been flipped to “Closed.”

  Maybe Mom’s having a meeting. Maybe she’s talking to someone from the
Historic Preservation Society. Or to Walter, and they’re finalizing details for their wedding.

  Using my key, I let myself in and called out, “Hello?”

  Moving past the chintz love seat and chairs in the waiting area, the two styling stations and sink separated by a half wall, and past the Nail Nook, where Stella Michaelson gave customers manicures and pedicures, I continued calling out. “Mom?”

  “Back here!” Mom’s voice drifted toward me from the kitchen. I entered and found her watching a man, on his hands and knees, prying loose a section of wainscoting.

  “Eddy, this is my oldest daughter, Grace Ann. Grace Ann, this is Eddy McAfee. He’s a contractor for the state. Remember? I told you we were having our mold inspection visit this afternoon.”

  Eddy rolled over onto his back and waved at me. “Nice to meet you, miss.” He had a Mr. Magoo type of nose and tiny eyes behind glasses held together at the nosepiece with a wrapping of dingy adhesive tape. An elastic headband wrapped around the last tufts of his grizzled hair and pinned his ears to his skull. To this was attached a light, much like a miner might wear, but dangling by a few wires. The whole contraption—glasses and headband—struck me as unreliable, as though it might fall apart at any time.

  “Excuse me, miss, but I’m not going to get up. I’ve got a situation here.” He pronounced every syllable of that long word, offered me a quick salute with one hand, then took a deep breath and scooted back under the sink.

  Mom’s features were drawn and tired. I tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s up? You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

  I couldn’t imagine that my interlude with Hank was causing her such distress. Mom, Alice Rose, Vonda, and I were in total agreement that my ex was some sort of dopy, overgrown kid who was playing at being a cop.

  Mom gave me a little half smile and sighed. “I figured Hank was here to yank your chain. That nice Agent Dillon came by and told me not to worry about you.”

  I tilted my head toward our man in khaki on the floor. Raising an eyebrow, I conveyed my question to Mom. “What gives?” She shook her head and turned away.

  Eddy wiggled out from under the cabinet. First the khakis, then a smudged white Polo shirt with “EDDY” embroidered over the chest pocket, and finally his head appeared. Snapping off his light, he rolled slowly to his feet, causing his official badge—Department of Public Health / State of Georgia—to bounce on his scrawny chest. He wore the grin of a small boy back from a successful treasure hunt. “Yes, ma’am! Yes, indeedie-do! Mrs. Terhune, you’ve got it, and you’ve got it bad. Stachybotrys chartarum. Your place is covered in black mold.”

  “Wait a minute! I personally cleaned it all off the baseboards. What are you talking about?” I tried to sound reasonable, but even to me, my voice sounded an octave too high.

  “You might have mopped up the mold on your baseboards, but I’ve been looking behind your fixtures and under your wainscoting. See, mold grows. And I bet you didn’t think to look up.” He pointed at the ceiling.

  Mom and I followed the direction of his finger. She couldn’t contain her gasp and mine was equally plaintive. The ceiling tiles showed gray, wet stains as they bowed toward us.

  “Full of water. I’m certain of it,” continued Eddy. “This old house wasn’t built as airtight as homes today. Under your siding, they used cellulose products as insulation. That’s a perfect breeding ground for black mold. Plus the fact your ground is soggy out back, because it’s still saturated with water. You should have run a dehumidifier in every room after the storm. That might have helped, but your windows aren’t properly sealed. Your AC system isn’t properly vented. The stagnant air is helping the mold grow.”

  My head was spinning with all this. Suddenly I felt dizzy. Mom saw the expression on my face and pulled a kitchen chair up so I could sink back and sit down.

  “Bet you’ve all had symptoms, haven’t you? Well, that’s over because I’m officially shutting you down!”

  As Mom escorted the jubilant Eddy out the back door, I went to the Internet and pulled up Stachybotrys chartarum, or Stachybotrys atra, a greenish black mold, commonly known as black mold. Mold, mushrooms, lichen are all an accepted part of life on the sea coast. However, at least according to the many websites I consulted, this stuff was both toxic and deadly. It could cause difficulty breathing, headaches, coughing, nausea, memory loss, dizziness, asthma, bronchitis, and, more surprisingly, urinary tract infections.

  “How long will we be closed?” were the first words out of my mouth when Mom came back after what seemed like an interminable wait.

  “Eddy thinks it’ll take two weeks to get the insurance adjuster here. Another week for them to make a determination. A week for haggling, he says, because they never allow enough money for the needed repairs. Then if I can come up with the deductible, and if I can find a contractor who isn’t too busy to take on a small job and who’ll do it reasonably, it could take as long as two months. Or so he reckons.”

  “That means we’re shut down for, what? Three months? At least?”

  She pulled up a seat next to me and took my hands in hers. “Did I ever tell you that one of your daddy’s favorite songs was that Kenny Rogers’s tune called ‘The Gambler’? It says you’ve got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them. Well, this is a sign, Grace Ann. I’m not a quitter, but I know when I’m beat. I’m folding. I’m putting down my cards and walking away from the table.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “TALK WITH MARTY ABOUT WASHINGTON,” MOM SUGGESTED again as she walked me to my car and stood there at the driver’s side. Her hug left me with a lingering scent of Youth-Dew on my skin.

  “What about Althea? Stella? Rachel? Does Alice Rose know about your engagement?”

  “No one knows anything. Not yet. I need a night to get my wits about me. Then I’ll talk to them. One at a time,” she said as she watched me key the ignition. “Try to have a good time tomorrow night with your young man. You’ve got a whole day to get ready. That worked out pretty well, didn’t it? Time off to enjoy with Marty?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t look so worried, Grace Ann. You always planned to work in a big city. Maybe this is God’s way of nudging you out the door.”

  Actually, I could feel a big boot in my backside, but I wasn’t happy about it.

  I rolled down my window so we could continue our conversation. “You just want to see me settled and having grandbabies.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I do. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Maybe that’s not right for me.” Although in my heart, I knew it was.

  She crossed her arms and stared off into space, considering this. “You might be right. You see, that’s the only life I know. Even though your dad died young, I couldn’t have imagined any other life than being married and a mother.”

  “But you own a business!”

  “Out of necessity. Althea and I helped each other through our grief by keeping busy. One thing led to another, and before we knew it, there was a steady stream of customers. At first, we did everyone’s hair for free. It was therapy for us, don’t you know? At some point, we had to decide whether to continue to wash hair in my kitchen sink or make a go of it. By then, we both realized we needed an income. Neither of us had been left with much money. We hired out-of-work handymen who took cash for making the changes we needed. I’m not really surprised to hear the materials they used were subpar.”

  “But you’ve enjoyed owning this business!” I hated what I was hearing. The words sounded reasonable and reassuring, but the fact she’d been backed against the wall caused my heart to ache deep in my chest.

  “It’s been good to me, but I’ve never had the flair for styling that you have. Sure, I can do about anything and everything, but you’re a real artist. There’s a difference. You could make it in any big city. I couldn’t. Maybe if I’d had the training, but…I doubt it.”

  She’d never said that to me before. My jaw sagged. All these years, I’d
looked up to her. Now my idol was telling me that I was actually better than she was. I swallowed hard. What did that mean?

  “So, you’ve hated it? All these years?”

  “Oh, no, honey! That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’ve loved owning the shop. I could always take time off when you and Alice Rose needed me. I was there for every ballet recital and track meet. Home when you both had measles. It’s great to be your own boss. I’ve been able to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I like working with people, most of the time. And I like the beauty industry. It’s a good feeling to see someone walk out of Violetta’s with her head held high because she looks her best.” Mom reached inside the car and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Besides, as soon as I realized how much talent you had, I wanted to keep our doors open for you. It’s been a real blessing to watch you grow more and more confident.”

  “So you did this just for me?”

  She sighed. “No. I did it for myself, for you and for Alice Rose, so we could have a good life. For Althea, Stella, and Rachel. For our customers. For all of us. And it’s been a good run, but maybe it’s over. Until we get this mold problem figured out, our doors are closed.”

  I left her after she promised not to make any rash decisions.

  Without work to structure my life, the next day dragged on and on. I cleaned my small apartment, changed the sheets, played with Sam, watered my two ferns, tossed out old magazines, and tried not to think about how boring life would be if Mom decided to close Violetta’s for good.

  My emotions swung back and forth on a pendulum. On one hand, I was elated by Mom’s praise. I hadn’t known she thought so highly of my talent. Mom was of the generation where you don’t brag. So she’d never told me she admired my skills. Not in so many words.

  On the other hand, my heart hurt and tears threatened. Was it really time for her to close up shop? Was I hiding out here in little St. Elizabeth when I should be working in a bigger market? Had I taken the easy way out? Had I let my mother carry all the burden while I played the part of a freeloader?