Chapter 36 Junie
Junie
She should’ve expected the scene before her as she enters June’s, considering how well she knows each of these women.
Cece sits on a foldable chair, Tina on the floor in front of her, hair oiled to within an inch of its life. Georgia, equally
lubricated, sits in front of Tina. They’re like a lice-check train. Olive oil is a natural way to treat lice that has become
popular in recent years because it’s both effective and void of the harsh chemicals that were once widely used. No one in
this circle wants her hair fried and brittle if the little bugs can be smothered and pulled out with a natural remedy.
“Well, y’all didn’t waste any time,” Junie says.
Georgia whips around. “Goodness gracious, there you are. I was really starting to worry about you. But also, yes, it’s lice,
so I’m not going to sit around on my itchy butt and do nothing.”
“I haven’t found a thing on Tina yet,” Cece says.
“I think our chances are fairly good,” Tina says. “Though it was probably a one in a million that Ms. Sherry got it from the
shop.”
Tina, like any good people pleaser, has held about as many short-term jobs as she has hairs on her head—and that’s in addition to her work at June’s.
She’s just known that way around Whitetail.
Someone’s in a pinch, they ask Tina to step in part-time, just until we can get someone else.
And it was precisely this way that she ended up doing a stint at Lice SWAT, a police-themed, professional lice treatment
team that could be dispatched to your home for a sizable fee. She was talked into it by way of the hair connection (an abuse of it, by all arguments) and took to religiously wearing a plastic hairnet while on duty.
“You’re probably right,” Georgia says. “It’s just as soon as the words come out—”
“The itch starts,” Cece says.
“Amen,” the three women chorus.
Junie stands there and watches, taking the chance to pull in a deep breath. Even if the discussion from the doctor’s office
followed her here, it feels good to pause in a safe space.
“Tina, I can’t believe you did this for work for so long,” Georgia says.
Tina shrugs. “Well, they needed someone, and then once I started, the search for the true replacement slowed . . .”
“They took advantage,” Cece says.
Georgia nods. “Sure sounds like it.”
“What could I do? I didn’t want to upset anyone, so I just stayed on,” Tina says.
“You shouldn’t do that when it’s at the expense of your own well-being,” Georgia says.
It strikes Junie that Georgia has probably suffered herself in extending help to them. “Precisely,” she chimes in. “Time to start standing up for yourself.”
“Y’all are sweet to care about little old me like that,” Tina says.
Junie rounds to the back of the train of women. “I can check you while you work, Cece,” she says. “And Georgia, you can circle
back to me once you’re done.”
“Georgia’s clear,” Tina says. “We can look again in a few days.”
Cece shuffles down to share the towel-covered floor section with Tina, and Junie slips into the chair, grateful for the rest.
She notices things like that now, the relief of sitting. It wasn’t but weeks ago that she’d stand and walk and snip and wash
and chat for the entire day without noticing an ache. That’s the thing about good health: It’s not appreciated until it’s
gone.
Junie feels the coolness of the oil running over her scalp and the loving touch of Georgia’s fingers on her scalp. It reminds
her of Mama. Like Georgia always does, but more this time.
“Alright, so let’s talk postmortem,” Georgia says.
“I’m sorry?” Junie asks, confused.
“I’m not blaming.” Georgia is sincere, not defensive. “No one did anything wrong. It’s just, you said you had an idea of how
the lice might’ve started. Maybe I misunderstood?”
“Oh, that.” Junie spritzes a nit comb with rubbing alcohol and starts to section Cece’s hair. “Well, a little while back, it was . . .
the day of the garage sale. A mom came in with her son. It struck me as unusual because she told me they’d been over to All-Star
Cuts, and they sent them away, claiming there were no available appointments. The shop was clearly open, and it was only a
fifteen-minute cut.”
“Did you see the kid scratch?” Cece asks.
“Well, now that I think about it, I did, but not so much that I thought anything was wrong.”
“Did you get the mom’s name? Maybe she works for All-Star? Maybe she intentionally brought over a kid with lice to sabotage
us.” Georgia’s words grow tighter and shorter.
“Hang on, hang on.” Junie waves a hand. “All-Star might’ve been involved, but this mom was definitely innocent. I think she
had no idea, and she wasn’t trying to hide anything. She told me everything, that she didn’t understand why they wouldn’t
just give him a quick cut. She said they recommended coming here.”
“I bet the stylists watched that boy scratch a few too many times and lied about the appointments,” Cece says.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Junie says. “And rather than checking the kid—or even recommending that the mom do it—they
sent them over here to lob the problem.”
“Oh heavens,” Tina squeals. “How could anyone be so horrible?”
“Everyone knows what this means, right?” Cece says. When she’s met with silence, she says, “Georgia? Are we thinking the same?”
Junie watches the two exchange a look.
Georgia clears her throat. “It means war, y’all.”