Wave Good-Bye (8 page)

“Can I offer you a glass of tea? Coffee?”

“Iced coffee?”

“I can make that for you. I bought Truvia. I know you like that.”

Her nod was grateful and her smile tremulous. “Thanks, big sis.”

“You’re welcome, little sis. Let me put the kettle on to boil. All I have is French vanilla instant coffee, and the granules dissolve best that way.”

Alice Rose got up from the rocker and took a stool at the counter that separates my kitchen area from my living room. Her eyes reddened as she watched me bustle around. “I’m worried sick about Owen.”

The eldest of my twin nephews. “Why? What’s up?”

“His teacher says his vocabulary isn’t as expected for his age. They want us to take him for testing.”

My heart plummeted. I knew that Wade was a good dad, but one with high expectations and a truckload of pride. If they found a problem, would he be able to adjust? Would he accept his son or forever be disappointed?

“I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose the bright side is that if they catch a problem now, they can help him before he goes to kindergarten. That would be good, right?”

“Ye-es. I guess. I mean, I hope so. If it’s something they can fix.”

I stopped stirring the hot water in the granules. “You think it might not be.”

Her mouth twisted and she fought a sob. “I don’t know. You never know, do you? I mean, you have a kid. You pray over them every night, and you hope for the best.”

I handed her a box of tissues, and she dabbed at her eyes. “Let’s
change the subject. There isn’t anything I can do for Owen, after all. Not until I know more. Mom told me about Lisa Butterworth. That’s so sad. We ran around together. You remember, don’t you?”

“No. Oh, wait! Was it Lisa who used to sneak out with you to go over to Beth Black’s house and watch MTV?”

Alice Rose laughed. “Guilty as charged. Hard to believe she’s dead. Mom also told me about her stealing your client list.”

Handing over the iced coffee, I poured myself a cup of hot water and added the instant mix. “I feel sick about it, Alice Rose. Really sick.”

“About her dying or her cheating Mom?”

“Both. Friday night I ran into her at Walk-Inn Foods. I sort of had a fight with her.”

Alice Rose snickered. “You never were one to back down.”

“Well, she honked me off big-time. I trusted her, Alice Rose! When she came to the shop, she looked like a million bucks. Very professional. She’d really grown into her features and learned to do her hair. And education? Shoot, I was impressed. Never in a million years did I think she’d run a scam on us. She was your friend, right? How do you explain what she did?”

“I can tell you exactly what happened to her. I mean, I can at least explain why she’s so ambitious,” my sister said. “Wow, this smells great.”

“I added vanilla to the creamer. Is that what you call someone who tricks other people? Ambitious?” I took my coffee pot and rinsed it out at the sink.

“That’s not what I would call ambitious, but I think Lisa looked at herself that way. Yes, I’m sure she did. We’ve had our problems with sibling rivalry, right?”

I squirmed. “Yeah.”

“I suspect deep down that you’d like to have a family.
I see how you are with my boys. I wish I had a career. There are times when I think that if I have to wash another load of clothes, I’ll go screaming and naked into the street. But Lisa’s older sister, Eliza? She’s an attorney up in New York City. Married to one of those Wall Street financial whiz kids. I ran into Lisa and her mother in the grocery store, and all Mrs. Butterworth could talk about was Eliza this and Eliza that. Never mind that poor Lisa was standing right there looking terrific and hurt. I mean, you could see it in her face. But her mom kept going on and on. Finally, I asked Lisa how she was doing, and Mrs. Butterworth laughed and said, ‘Still messing with hair.’ Can you imagine?”

“That’s just so mean!”

“You should have seen the expression on Lisa’s face. She nearly cried.”

A pang of sympathy hit me hard in the solar plexus. “We’ve been lucky. Mom’s never compared us to each other. Never pointed out that you’re happily married and I’m an ink blot on the family tree.”

My sister finished her iced coffee. “Mom loves us both, and we know that. Always has and always will. Sure, there’re times that I get mad at you. And, yes, sometimes, I wish I was her favorite. Bet you wish you were, too!”

“Of course I do, that’s human nature, but you know Mom. She’d rather have bamboo splinters rammed under her fingernails than create friction between us. Like you said, she loves us both, and we know it. We’ve always been there for each other as a family. Remember that when you get to worrying about Owen. He’s got us. He’ll be okay.”

She stood up, walked around the counter, and hugged me tightly. “And you remember it when you think about the shop. You’ll figure out a way to save it, or to help Mom move on. Maybe now’s the time for her to finally get her cosmetology license. Who knows?”

After she left, I finished scrubbing the floors and my cabinets. The water swirled round in the sink, leaving a thin film of dirt. Very satisfying.

Sam had watched all my efforts with intense interest. “You need a little exercise, buddy?”

As an experiment, I unlatched the door on Sam’s cage. He had a blast flying through the apartment. He perched on the dish drainer as I rinsed out Alice Rose’s glass, and after eying the stream of water suspiciously, he treated himself to a quick bath. The sight of him trying to flutter dry tickled me.

I made a mental note not to run scalding hot water while he was out of his cage. I spent the rest of the day researching parakeets, learning the ropes of bird ownership, and reading a book I’d started weeks ago.

Chapter Eleven

ALTHEA BREEZED IN THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR and tossed the local newspaper down on the counter. “Did you see this?”

“Old news,” I said. As usual, I’d been scrubbing away at the black mold inside the storage cabinets. From my kneeling position, I paused to look up at her and did a double take at the vision of loveliness standing next to me.

Before dating Kwasi, Althea was your typical J. C. Penney shopper who favored polyester knit pantsuits and cotton shirtdresses, which she protected by wearing her aesthetician’s smock. Nowadays she chose more exciting ensembles. Today she wore an orange, green, yellow, and black tunic top over leggings. From her earlobes hung bone-colored hoop earrings. With her full lips, broad nose, and
jaw-length Afro, she looked positively regal and totally exotic.

She tapped a finger against the newspaper. “A woman is murdered in our little town and you call it ‘old news’?”

I nodded. “Because it happened Friday, yes, it’s old news. But if you’re asking what I think, I think it’s tragic. I didn’t like her, but it’s still a shock, and I especially feel sorry for Lisa Butterworth’s family.”

“Morning, Althea.” Mom joined us, carrying a big mug of coffee in her hands. Her favorite is hazelnut, and the wonderful scent preceded her as she came into the room. Mom’s usually all sunshine and smiles in the morning, but today her expression was dour. “Grace Ann? I’m so glad you’re doing that. I totally forgot that the mold inspector is coming by today. I guess I better get down there with you.”

In a way, it was lucky we didn’t have any customers on the books, because both of us scrubbed baseboards for an hour, her in the waiting area, and me in the salon. The work was slowgoing, but it looked to me like we’d made fine progress. All my press-on nails had fallen off, but I couldn’t see a speck of the green black menace on the woodwork.

I took a break and plopped down on one of our wicker chairs. Mom pulled off her rubber gloves and joined me. “I can’t help thinking about that poor girl. She was so young. Same age as Alice Rose. I hadn’t realized that until Walter turned up the radio this morning.”

I bit my lip. So that’s how it was. He was staying over these days.

My mother turned red-rimmed eyes on me. “It didn’t really hit me Sunday morning, but as the day wore on, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I can’t imagine what I’d do if something happened to you or your sister. To think that happened in downtown St. Elizabeth, too! Right off our main drag!”

“The tourism bureau isn’t going to like this one bit.” Althea
took a break from mixing a new batch of oatmeal–egg white face mask paste. “Kwasi says it’s going to cost local businesses thousands of dollars in lost revenue. The longer they go without an arrest, the worse the downturn will be.”

No one added that our business was already in the tank.

“How’s the mold cleanup coming on your side of the salon?” Mom asked me.

“I’m done and it looks pretty good,” I said.

“Good.” Mom smiled at me. “Now we’re ready for the man from the health department. Can I talk to you in my office?”

“Sure thing.”

Mom’s “office” is a tiny nook, a former closet, fitted with a Formica desktop, a filing cabinet, and two office chairs. Over the desk are two shelves packed with three-ring binders containing all the rules and regulations for running a shop like ours. There are also a couple of binders dedicated to formulas for hair coloring, troubleshooting, and so on. To the right of her desk is a family photo taken at Sears when I was five and Alice Rose, my sister, was three. Dad stands proudly behind Mom, who is seated. On her lap is Alice Rose, and I’m on her right, snuggled close. Every time I look at it, I get a little teary-eyed. Mom’s managed to make a good life for herself since Dad died, but I can’t help wondering how it would have been different if he hadn’t gotten cancer.

“Have a seat.” She closed the door behind me, leaving behind the trail of a strawberry scent from the body wash she likes to use. The space felt slightly claustrophobic, but I have to admit, I liked the feeling of intimacy. This little room is like a clubhouse. Mom and I would come here for what we called our “war councils.” Whenever we had a problem, like when a customer bounced a check, we’d adjourn to her office and close the door to discuss how it should be handled. I think Alice Rose envied me this. Working together, talking things through like this built a bond between Mom and me, a shared
interest that she and Alice Rose didn’t have. It wasn’t that Mom didn’t love my sister. She did and Alice Rose knew it. It was just that Mom and I could finish each other’s sentences. We could take one look at each other and know what the other person thought. When you spend as many hours as we did with each other, you either found your rhythm and moved in sync or you were constantly bumping into each other. Kind of like those couples on
Dancing with the Stars
. We had practiced so long, learned to communicate so well, that our footwork was seamless, and we moved like one person—at least when it came to anything that concerned the shop.

“What’s up?”

“Just a couple of things.” She rearranged the papers on her desk, and then she rearranged them again. Finally she sighed and looked at me over the lenses of her rimless glasses. With her gray white hair and twenty pounds of extra weight, she looks motherly and nurturing, which she is. She’s also very straightforward…usually. I wondered what was on her mind. I suspected she’d ask me my opinion on getting more customers into the shop.

“A letter came on Saturday from the historical society. Seems that someone—they wouldn’t tell me who—filled out the paperwork to have this house listed as a historic property. The St. Elizabeth Historic Preservation Committee is meeting next week to consider the proposal.”

“That’s fabulous! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She gave me a quivering smile. “I really wasn’t in the mood to discuss it.”

“But that’s terrific, isn’t it? I mean, this place will be in the historic register!”

“Ye-es, it’s terrific that the house will be recognized, so it’s good for the house and for the city. But for us? Not so much. I’m not sure, but I think that if the proposal passes, the house will have to be gutted and restored to its original floor plan.”

Chapter Twelve

“WHAT? HOW CAN THEY DO THAT?”

“Hang on and I’ll explain what little I know. But don’t hold me to any of this because I’m not an expert—and I haven’t had the chance to get the details. See, someone sent a lot of paperwork to the National Register of Historic Places. Again, I don’t know who did it or why someone decided all of a sudden to initiate this documentation. Whoever it was did a lot of research and digging. A copy of all the paperwork was sent at the same time to the Georgia Register of Historic Places. The house could be put in the national list and not in the Georgia list, or vice versa, or qualify for neither or both, as I understand it. Once it’s in that list, I would have to fill out an appropriateness application. If the changes I’ve made don’t pass muster, that is if
they deem them inappropriate, I might need to fix what I’ve done. Or not.” She bowed her head and rubbed the back of her neck.