Rachelle pulled away from the curb and followed Yasmin’s directions to Carmen’s house, two blocks away.
Twenty minutes later, she and Indigo turned into the parking lot adjacent to Hair Pizzazz, Aunt Melba’s salon. The squat, redbrick building that housed the business didn’t fit Aunt Melba’s stylish image. When clients entered, however, they often referred to the atmosphere as a chic or elegant haven.
Rachelle noticed that Aunt Melba had changed the décor since she had last ventured to the salon several years ago. The jewel-tone color scheme had been replaced by faux-finished, muted gold walls. Two sofas in the waiting area had been reupholstered in a Tuscany red, and an Oriental rug that covered most of the open floor emphasized both colors.
Live ferns were strategically placed on pedestals near each window and eclectic paintings graced the walls. It appeared that Aunt Melba still offered art majors from Everson College opportunities to display their work.
The soft jazz pouring through the speakers soothed Rachelle’s ears. She wasn’t getting her hair done today, but she had a feeling she’d leave here relaxed, just the same.
Other than Indigo, Aunt Melba had only two clients this morning, and one of them was Dr. Cynthia Bridgeforth. She waved to Rachelle and Indigo from under the dryer.
Aunt Melba motioned for Indigo to sit in her chair. She draped a black cape over the girl and fastened it at the neck while Rachelle stood with her and watched.
“I love the new décor, Aunt Melba.” Rachelle glanced around, admiring the makeover again. “When did you do all of this?”
“About six months ago,” Melba said. “It’s good to change things up every so often, you know? If I’ve got to be in here ten or twelve hours a day for most of the week, it’s like a second home, and I need to love it.”
Rachelle smiled. “Well, I love it too. Jubilant, Texas, isn’t going to be able to handle you in a minute. This is classy.”
Aunt Melba paused and put her hand on her hip. “Watch it now. Don’t be talking about my town. Jubilant isn’t Houston, but we aren’t all hicks, Miss Thang. You fit in right nicely before you became ‘Mrs. Cardiac Surgeon America.’”
They both laughed.
“Do you always come in on Mondays?” Rachelle asked, purposely changing the subject. She would rather focus on her independent, feisty aunt this morning than on her own trophy-wife woes. “I thought most hairstylists took this day off.”
Aunt Melba nodded. “I’m usually closed, but I couldn’t fit Cynthia in on Saturday, and she has an important function tonight. Then Indigo had so much fun at her party yesterday that she got her hair all wet and jacked it up.”
The three of them laughed. Melba motioned toward an older woman sitting under a dryer next to Cynthia.
“And Lela Cooley over there? She’s recovering from cancer and her hair is finally growing back. She called me on Saturday and told me she thought that enough had returned for her to throw away her wig and start getting it styled again. Since I was booked up and couldn’t squeeze her in, I told her to come today.
“I’ll have all of these folks in and out of my chair by one p.m.,” Aunt Melba said. “Got one more young lady coming in after Indigo, and the rest of the day will be mine.”
Aunt Melba walked Indigo to the shampoo bowl and wet and lathered the girl’s hair. Rachelle took a seat in the chair Indigo had vacated and watched.
When Aunt Melba had washed and rinsed twice, she slathered on conditioner and slid on a plastic cap. She instructed Indigo to close her eyes and relax for a few minutes.
Melba dried her hands with the white towel she kept on the rack behind the sink, then motioned for Rachelle to follow her through a door, into the salon’s supply room.
“What’s up, Aunt Melba?” Rachelle asked.
In her camel halter top, matching jeans, and wedge sandals, Melba looked ready for a casual chic photo shoot. She folded her arms and pursed her lips.
“You tell me,” she said. “What are you doing down here, hanging around town just when your ex-husband happens to move back and your current husband is nowhere to be found? You’re playing with fire, Rachelle.”
Rachelle frowned. “Aunt Melba,” she said slowly, grasping for a response she wouldn’t later regret. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I’m not up to anything. I came to visit yesterday and didn’t realize that Troy was here, or that St. Peter’s Baptist had hired him. No idea. I wouldn’t have shown up if that were the case. And when I saw him at the barbecue yesterday, I almost grabbed my suitcase and drove home.
“I’m not playing games,” Rachelle continued. “I’m a grown woman and I’m married to someone else.”
Melba stared at her. “So you didn’t know he would be bringing Chaundra in this morning to get her hair done?”
Rachelle caught her breath. Another encounter? “Troy is coming here? I’ll leave and come back to pick up Indigo when you’re done.”
Melba wasn’t fazed by Rachelle’s frustration. “If it’s no big deal, why do you need to disappear every time he’s around?” she asked. “I don’t go to church often, but I was there yesterday, sitting on one of the last rows, and I saw you flee after service. I also saw you dash inside with your cell phone when he arrived at the barbecue.”
Rachelle was busted. She had been running, as if not sharing the same space with Troy would limit her exposure to her previous heartbreak. Then, when she had finally talked with him, she was the one who hadn’t wanted the conversation to end.
Even so, Rachelle wasn’t sure why Aunt Melba was pushing her so hard.
“It’s not so cut-and-dried,” Rachelle said. “We were more than just college sweethearts, Aunt Melba. I eloped with him. It’s an awkward situation. But why are you so up in arms about this?”
Aunt Melba paused for the longest time, clearly debating whether to answer. “I’m just looking out for you, Rachelle. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Gabe, but I don’t think you should let this encounter with Troy blur your reason. God has a purpose for everything and everyone, including you.”
Rachelle’s eyes widened. Aunt Melba was the life of the party, not the spiritual sage. Where was this coming from?
“Don’t look so surprised!” Aunt Melba said. “God can work through anybody!”
They both chuckled.
“Look,” Aunt Melba said. “If you need to talk anything through, I’m here. I just see the potential for problems and I want you to make sure you keep your guard up.”
Rachelle gave her a light hug. “Thanks for caring, Auntie, but no need to worry,” she said. “Besides, Troy didn’t have two cents’ worth of time or words for me yesterday. He has moved on.”
The women returned to the salon’s studio. Indigo still rested at the sink with her eyes closed while Cynthia sat at a dryer with the hood up, waiting to have her hair combed and styled. Melba’s other client, Lela, had dozed off under the dryer.
Rachelle sauntered over to Cynthia and greeted her with a hug. Before long, Rachelle was quizzing the pediatrician about her work.
“It can be grueling, but I enjoy what I do,” Cynthia said. “I easily see fifteen to twenty patients a day, and they usually have a long wait, because I take the time to talk with the mothers about everything that’s going on in their families, not just about their child’s growth and development.
“A lot of my parents are just teenagers themselves, so their lives are challenging,” Cynthia said. “I realized a long time ago that God didn’t allow me to become a doctor just to administer medical advice. This is my social ministry.”
“That is so meaningful,” Rachelle said. “Not that providing pediatric services alone isn’t. But to offer everything else that you’re doing for your patients—wow. Most doctors aren’t giving patients books or making sure they get screened onsite for asthma and diabetes.”
Cynthia shrugged. “I grew up in a single parent home where my mother stressed education and excellence. If not for that, I wouldn’t have dreamt of becoming a doctor. I might have been one of those teenage mothers I now help, if not for her. That’s why I do it.”
She shifted in her seat. “Now, you know more about my work than you ever wanted to,” she said and laughed. “Tell me your story, Rachelle. Melba told me you’re an optometrist?”
Rachelle was surprised her aunt had thought to mention the career she hadn’t pursued in so long. “Aunt Melba remembers that? Yes, I’m a trained optometrist, but I haven’t practiced in years. I stopped soon after my ten-year-old son was born.” She hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Few people know this, but I renew my license every year, even though I’m not working in the field. Is that silly or what?”
Cynthia shook her head and smiled. “I’m a firm believer that few things are coincidental. You’ve been renewing that license for a reason. Time will tell you what it’s for.”
A bell chimed when the salon door swung open. Troy ushered in Chaundra, who grinned when she saw Indigo sitting at the shampoo bowl.
Troy waved at Melba. “Hello, ladies,” he said to Rachelle and Cynthia. His eyes swept past the empty chairs on either side of them, near the dryers, and the vacant sofas in the waiting area.
Rachelle knew he was weighing his options. She picked up a magazine from the seat next to her and zoned in on actress Gabrielle Union’s face.
Cynthia motioned to the seat next to her. Troy shrugged and slid into it.
“I’m not getting my hair washed and dried, but I guess I can sit here,” he joked and ran his hand over his smooth, fair-skinned head.
The three sat in silence, watching Melba work. Indigo had asked Aunt Melba to turn on the radio, and India. Arie’s smooth alto was now piping through the speakers.
“It’s about forgiveness . . . even if, even if you don’t love me anymore . . .”
Perfect, Rachelle thought. She and Aunt Melba locked eyes.
“You guys can turn to another station or put in a CD, if you’d like,” Aunt Melba said.
No one moved.
She combed through Indigo’s wet hair and positioned her under the dryer next to Rachelle. She motioned for Cynthia to have a seat in her chair, so she could begin styling her hair.
That left Troy and Rachelle sitting two seats apart, staring anywhere but at each other.
“Want to move to the waiting area?” Troy finally said. “I won’t bite, you know.”
Rachelle looked at him and tried to control her emotions. She couldn’t believe after all this time that some of the pain, and a lot of the desire, lingered.
When she didn’t respond, he picked up a magazine and strolled over to one of the red sofas.
Rachelle stayed put and kept her magazine on page sixty-five for the next hour, staring at the featured words and images, but really not seeing them. She wasn’t sure why she was so uncomfortable, but wished it weren’t so obvious.
No wonder Aunt Melba felt the need to lecture her. She had to get herself together. Troy had moved on and so had she—at least on the surface. No one needed to know differently.
When Indigo was ready, with her freshly washed hair hanging just below her ears in a stylish, asymmetrical cut, Rachelle stood up and grabbed her purse.
“That is beautiful, Aunt Melba. I’m going to have to get Taryn down here,” she said.
Indigo and Chaundra exchanged phone numbers and made plans to talk later that day. Indigo trotted over to Troy, in the waiting area.
“Can Chaundra come over and hang out sometime, Mr. Hardy?”
He looked at Rachelle, then returned his attention to Indigo. “You girls let me know when.”
Rachelle surmised what he was thinking. He knew the Burns family well enough to know that if Chaundra and Indigo became friends, she would be keeping good company.
He opened his magazine again and seemed engrossed in whatever he was reading. Rachelle took a deep breath and paused as she passed him on her way out of the salon.
“Take care, Troy,” she said. “I’ll be leaving for Houston in the next day or so. It was good to see you, and to meet your daughter.”
He responded without raising his head. “It was nice to see you too, Rachelle,” he said. “Have a safe trip home. And by the way, I don’t have children. Chaundra is my niece.”