Relatively Crazy

by Ellen Dye

  First she looked at Val. Then she looked at me, her face now paler than a freshly bleached sheet. She blinked once, stuttered twice, and her fingers lost their grip on the blow dryer, which then clattered to the floor.

  And then she promptly clasped one hand to her mouth and ran for the student bathroom for all she was worth.

  ****

  An hour later—a full sixty minutes of non-stop activity involving Trista’s mother, several local police officers, and the daily newspaper—Val and I were finally free to join Mitzi, who had yet to emerge from the first stall of the student’s bathroom.

  “No, it wasn’t the first time,” I answered the question as I popped the tab on a cold can of ginger ale and passed it under the stall door.

  “It wouldn’t have been the last,” Mitzi whispered, flipping the latch and taking the few small steps to the single chair next to the sink, where she slumped gratefully down. She held out the soda, her hand shaking badly. Val took the can and placed it safely on the counter surrounding the sink.

  “But thankfully it was. Trista’s going to press charges,” Val added. “The paramedics checked her over and agreed both her and the baby are fine. Her mother took her home, and they’re going to work things out. The nightmare is over for her.”

  “Steve?” Mitzi asked.

  Val shook her head. “A slight concussion, they said. No permanent damage. Unfortunately.”

  We three fell into an uncertain silence.

  “It’s over for me, too,” Mitzi said in a small voice. She broke eye contact with the gray tile floor. “I mean it,” she said, a bit more loudly as she looked first toward Val and then myself.

  We stood quietly, not really knowing what to say.

  “Really.” Mitzi’s voice was louder, stronger. “It’s over. Is that offer of the garage apartment still open?”

  Val smiled. “You bet. Move in this afternoon, if you want.”

  “I do.” Mitzi grinned. “So, do you think I have the makings of a Bird?”

  Val quirked a brow before giving her royal purple nails a huff and quickly polishing them on her shirt. “Well,” she began, pretending to closely examine her manicure. “It’s sort of a calling. Not for everybody, you understand?” She paused while Mitzi giggled. “But sure, girlfriend. I got to say, I think you just might have what it takes.”

  Mitzi laughed, a wonderful sound. “And about that shop,” she ventured, and we nodded. “I’ve got money of my own stashed that Rich doesn’t know about. Count me in.”

  “Let’s do it,” Val said, opening her arms.

  After sealing the deal with a group hug, Mitzi stepped back a pace. “It’s official now. I’m one of you all. So…” She paused long enough to wipe away a happy tear. “You’ve got to tell me everything about Hairdresser Hattie.”

  I laughed, grabbing the door handle. “Oh, you could hardly avoid that even if you wanted to.”

  As Val launched into a description of some of the more pertinent facts about Hairdresser Hattie and her slew of amazing accomplishments, I stared at the gray tile threshold separating the student’s bathroom from the clinic floor.

  I knew that the instant I stepped over, my life would change irrevocably. Val fell silent, and the three of us exchanged a look, first with each other and then downward at the plain-looking band of tile separating us from our past and urging us onward to our combined futures. They knew.

  We linked arms and took the step.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I stared in proud wonder as I ran my fingertips across the deeply familiar yet completely different red-and-black folder. The cover boldly announced, “Preparatory College Education at Buckston High School.”

  “I’m so proud of you, baby.” I took a seat in the diner’s booth next to Olivia.

  Olivia blushed and pulled another familiar booklet from the stack before her. “Mr. Plower was great.” She opened the cover of The Mountain State Achievement Test. I felt another flush of maternal pride as I took in both her scores and Mr. Plower’s tightly written, profuse praise filling the margins. Olivia pointed to several. “He made personal notes all through the booklet. And he said I could keep it. Oh, and guess what else?” Olivia practically bubbled.

  “What’s that?”

  “He remembered your test results.”

  I blanched. Some things are truly best kept from one’s offspring.

  “I’m really proud of you,” I repeated by way of changing the subject.

  “Mr. Plower said you’d be really proud. Oh, he asked me to give you a message.”

  My brows rose slightly.

  “It doesn’t make much sense. But he said to tell you that no one has ever matched your unique creativity or come close to your scores. He said your record still stands. And then he laughed.” Olivia cocked her head to one side, waiting for an explanation.

  I stalled by indulging in a long, slow drink of water. Guess a dead zero is hard to beat, even in Buckston County.

  “Mom?” Olivia prompted.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Really.” I coughed. “So let’s see the rest.” I gestured toward the pile of paperwork she’d brought along.

  Olivia slid the pile across the Formica, her curiosity forgotten for the moment. “Most of this is from West Virginia University. But there are a couple of booklets from out-of-state colleges. Mr. Plower said I might even qualify for scholarships if I do well on the SAT.”

  Jamie Sue rushed by our booth, wearing her usual scowl and carrying an armload of plates. As Olivia began to chat about the various merits of WVU, I took a quick glance around the nearly empty diner. Only two tables were occupied. Odd, since we’d been so busy last night I’d nearly worn the rubber soles from my sneakers.

  I was noticing a trend since Jamie Sue had taken over the waitressing on her two nights off from kitchen duty. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to be a good one.

  “Really, this is the most economical choice,” Olivia said as she extended several papers bearing the WVU logo across their tops.

  One glance at the tuition figures nearly took my breath away. They called this economical? Goodness! I crossed mental fingers that all would go well with our efforts to make Be Headed not only a reality but a success.

  The bell above the door chimed for the first time since our arrival, and we looked up to see a breathless Kate hurry in, with Val and Mitzi following close behind.

  “Did you?” Kate asked, clutching a matching red-and-black folder to her chest.

  “Yep.” Olivia grinned and held hers up at the same time Kate turned hers around.

  Much squealing erupted, teenage and otherwise, and hugs were passed all around.

  “I think this calls for a celebration,” Mitzi announced, as she slid in opposite Olivia and me.

  I agreed.

  “We’re all on our way to successful careers,” Val chimed in, pulling up a chair as Kate slid in next to Mitzi.

  That we were. The last four weeks had been another flurry of activity for each of us. For the girls, it had been school and creating their baked masterpieces, which now admirably filled the front display cases, and the additional carry-out orders kept the pair of them hopping. Their enterprise had been so successful Uncle Jimmy had joked that he was going to have to rename the place Do Take Out.

  For us oldsters, the days had been spent at school and our nights divided by work, our business plan, and the hands-on refurbishment of the former Cut and Curl.

  “I’m starved.” Mitzi glanced at the specials board. “What’s good, Wanda Jo?”

  “Dessert,” I replied, with no small amount of maternal pride.

  Mitzi laughed. It was a good look on her. Of us all, Mitzi’s changes of the past four weeks had been the most dramatic. She’d left Rich, a fortunately undramatic event, and moved into the small apartment above Val’s garage. As her bruises faded, her newfound happiness had blossomed.

  “Hey, is this a private party, or can just any old body join in?” Sam asked, although he was already pulli
ng up a chair next to Val.

  “Well, hey yourself, big guy. Long time, no see.” Val playfully nudged his arm.

  Sam nudged back. “So what are we celebrating?”

  As Olivia and Kate launched into the retelling of their victory over The Test and subsequent admission to the college preparatory program, I couldn’t help but watch Sam. I’d managed to put The Kiss where it belonged, in the furtherest, most unused corner of my mind. Honestly, I just never thought about it. Well, not much, anyway.

  Covertly watching Sam, I decided he must have forgotten all about the episode himself. He’d probably realized it was a foolish happening, I decided, since he’d made sure the conditions since then remained completely unfavorable for a repeat performance. Neither Sam nor the Magic Hamper had appeared in the diner after closing—or any other time, for that matter. Clearly not a man to take foolish chances, Sam.

  “What majors are you two looking at?” Sam was asking the girls.

  Twin blank stares gazed back at him.

  “I don’t know,” Kate was the first to admit. “You know, I was so busy working to get here I never thought about what I would do if I made it.” She looked toward Olivia.

  Olivia gulped. “Me, too.”

  Sam waved one large hand. “You’ll figure it out. You’ve got plenty of time. But you know, y’all do have quite a talent with the baking business.”

  “Baking.” Kate smiled.

  “Business,” Olivia said, her eyes taking on a dreamy look.

  “We could get our degrees in business,” Kate began.

  “And then we could really make a living doing what we love,” Olivia finished.

  “We could market,” Kate bubbled.

  “We could franchise,” Olivia offered.

  Val and I exchanged a motherly thank-you glance with Sam, who was looking pretty darned pleased with himself as the girls chattered with growing enthusiasm.

  Val leaned behind Sam. “I think we’ll have to serve ourselves.” She shot a sidelong glance at Jamie Sue, who was currently wiping down tables, her back toward us.

  I shrugged. “Give me a hand.”

  We made our way to the coffee station.

  “Tea all around?” I asked.

  When she nodded, I began filling glasses with ice.

  “He’s crazy about you. Always has been. And Olivia, too.”

  “Huh?”

  Val shot me a look. “Sam,” she said his name slowly, drawing out the individual sound of each letter.

  “No. Well, yes. But not like, well…” I babbled. “Nothing really happened,” I finally finished.

  “He’s just waiting for the time to be right.”

  I shrugged my disbelief.

  “He’s a keeper.”

  “He’s family.”

  “So he’ll be closer family.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Val grinned. “Oh, just FYI.”

  I waved the topic away, feeling baffled. “What are we going to eat?”

  “Got it covered.” Dottie’s voice carried through the pick-up window.

  Val and I stood on tiptoes, peering through to the kitchen.

  Dottie’s grinning face popped up from beneath the range. She wiped her hands on a towel. “Everybody like lasagna?”

  My mouth watered instantly.

  Val sighed. “Honey, if you made it, we’ll love it.”

  “I made a whole pan just for y’all. Perfect for a celebration. It’ll be done in just a sec.”

  “How did you—” I started.

  Dottie waved. “Buckston County grapevine. Everybody in town knew by noon. I knew y’all would be coming in, and I figured a special dinner would set real fine.”

  “Dottie, you’re the best,” I replied.

  “I think y’all are pretty great, too.” She passed a tray loaded with plates filled with garden-fresh salads. Breadbaskets and another tray followed. “Why don’t y’all start with these, and I’ll bring out the pasta when it’s done.”

  “Thanks,” Val and I chimed.

  Each of us grabbed a tray and a breadbasket and headed to the dining room. Sam was busy shifting one of the center tables level with the booth, and Mitzi was arranging chairs. I noticed our small party had increased by two.

  “Mama, you look wonderful,” I said truthfully, taking in her emerald green, silky pants and matching top.

  She smiled, and Mr. Loudermilk draped an arm across her shoulders. “Told her the same thing myself.” He beamed down at her.

  The transformation which had begun the day of the fundraiser had indeed become permanent. Mama no longer dressed exclusively in the pale pastel-colored polyester paired with the sensible NurseMates she’d favored for so many years. Her wardrobe had become as varied and bright as a summer landscape. And best of all, her perpetually stooped shoulders, with accompanying persimmon frown, had become a thing of the past.

  I guessed the man by her side had a lot to do with both her new look and her new attitude.

  I set down the tray and kissed her cheek. “Heard the news before I did, huh?”

  “Baby, I heard the news before Olivia did. That’s one advantage of having my salon. If it happens, I’m usually the first to know.”

  A few short minutes later saw the drinks, salads, and breadbaskets passed around, and Val and I took our seats.

  “I’ve got something for you, Olivia.” Mama rummaged through her handbag.

  Olivia shot me a glance. I shrugged.

  “Now remember, it’s the thought that counts,” Mama said, passing a small, blue velvet box to Olivia. “I know you may decide on going somewhere else. But you’re the first person in our family to go to college, and I wanted you to have something special to represent that.”

  Olivia opened the box and then slowly brought one hand to her mouth. She looked across the table, her eyes shining. “I love it. It’s perfect. Really.” She blotted her happy tears with a napkin.

  “Let’s see,” Sam requested.

  She turned the box toward us. Pinned to the lining was a small silver charm fashioned in the shape of the WVU logo.

  “Thank you so much…” Olivia faltered as always when the opportunity arose to address Mama by name.

  Mama grinned. “How about Granny?” she suggested, as she relinquished her sixteen-year battle.

  “Granny,” Olivia finished with a grin.

  Mama beamed as Olivia wriggled out from the booth and came around to offer a hug.

  I mouthed the words “thank you” over Olivia’s head, and Mama gave me one of her new, and deeply genuine, smiles.

  Mr. Loudermilk reached into a pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife. “I’ll attach that for you, if you want,” he offered, and Olivia quickly unfastened the bracelet and passed it over.

  I sat back, happy with the world in general and my own small part of it in particular. I was lucky, terribly so. It just didn’t get much better than this.

  And now, if I could just manage to get through State Board and do my part in getting Be Headed up and running, we’d have it made. But first I’d have to make it over tomorrow’s hurdles.

  ****

  “Wanda Jo, will you please sit down,” Val said, lounging back in the seat of one desk while propping her legs on another. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Well, it’s about time something did,” I snapped. “You are just too calm. How can you possibly be calm at a time like this?” I demanded, my voice rising higher and higher with each word.

  Val laughed. “Because I know I passed. And I know you did, too.” She calmly opened the latest issue of Salon Today. “Sheesh.”

  This waiting was positively inhumane.

  I did an about-face and began to pace through the otherwise empty classroom in the opposite direction. How much longer were we going to have to wait? Honestly, it shouldn’t take so long to grade two tests. What was going on? I was beginning to think Bitsy had to drive to Pivot Point Inc. for a master score sheet.

 
; This was by far becoming the most tedious part of what had already been a tedious morning.

  Val and I had arrived early, our thermos of Verona and copious study notes in hand, prepared to spend at least a quality quarter hour cramming. But we were met at the door, literally, by Bitsy, who wore an exceptionally evil smile and held two copies of the final theory exam. Without ceremony, she’d confiscated both our notes and our coffee and shooed us into a spare room.

  Once there, Val and I had diligently applied ourselves to obtaining a passing score while Bitsy had paced the room, stopping frequently to peer over our shoulders. Or rather, Val had applied herself while I’d managed to run through two pencil erasers and exude a great deal of sweat.

  Bitsy had called time—way too early, in my opinion, but to the second according to the wall clock—grabbed our booklets with all possible haste, and relocated us to the now empty theory room to await our scores. Forever, it seemed.

  Reaching the far wall, I did another about-face just as the theory room door opened. My heart stopped. Mitzi came through carrying yet another covered casserole dish. My heart slowly resumed its normal rhythm, and I began another lap across the room.

  “How did you do?” Mitzi asked as she wedged the newest addition between the other dozen almost identical offerings lining the mock station counters.

  “Great,” Val replied.

  I managed a small squeak and swallowed back rising nausea.

  “Hoo-Kay.” Mitzi quirked a brow and began to rearrange casseroles.

  Heavens, there were enough covered dishes to feed an army, and more seemed to trickle in every few minutes in preparation for our presumed Key Party celebration. An optimistic lot, our fellow students. I wished I could share the feeling, but it was so not happening.

  “C’mon, Wanda Jo,” Mitzi urged. “It’s not like there was anything on the test you haven’t done in a salon.”

  “Absolutely,” Val agreed.

  I merely groaned and continued to pace.

  I was sure I’d done fine on the sections about haircutting, color techniques, perms, and all other hands-on services. But those things are only a small portion of any theory exam. Unfortunately, the lion’s share of these tests have very little to do with what hands-on cosmetology is actually about.