Chapter 2 Junie
Junie
Junie tucks the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She promised Georgia they’d hash out the details in person. Junie
drags the tissue under her nose and looks up from where she stands in the middle of June’s Beauty Shop.
Or what’s left of it. The maroon carpet that once ran under her feet—under their mama’s feet—is long gone, ripped out and
tossed in the dumpster out back. The drywall is halfway gone, the storage cabinets that lined the back ripped down to the
studs. Aunt Tina’s wig wall is boxed up and gone, now stacked in her guest room.
It’s demoed.
And Georgia doesn’t know.
The entire situation reminds Junie of the time she brought home the class gerbil, Pumpkin, in fourth grade, back when Mama was sick and they were mostly in charge of themselves on the weekends.
Daddy sat at Mama’s side like a sentry until she needed something.
Even when she shooed him away, he never went far, hovering instead on the outskirts.
Thus, it wasn’t unusual for Junie to find herself bored and unsupervised, and this day she had decided to give the pet a bath in the kitchen sink.
Ron Horowitz had told her that gerbils could swim and that he’d watched Pumpkin do it during his weekend to keep her.
Junie filled the sink, cooing at Pumpkin through the wires of her cage about the fun awaiting her. But when Junie lowered
Pumpkin into the full basin, she spooked, scrambled out of the sink, and made a mad dash along the counter. Junie chased her,
scattering cups and stacks of mail in an attempt to catch the gerbil as she neared the open door to the backyard.
To this day, Junie can feel the panic, the searing sensation of fear seizing her chest. She was doing something nice for Pumpkin,
and horrible fates weren’t supposed to await people acting in good faith. It never made sense how good intentions didn’t count
for squat. She’d realized that difficult truth as little Pumpkin hightailed it toward the door and the unfortunate fates beyond.
It was like a twisted prerequisite to enduring her mother’s eventual death.
In that moment Georgia had spun around the corner in a flurry. “Junie Scott, what on earth?” Her long red hair whipped behind her as she skidded to a stop. Georgia’s eyes landed on the fluffy rodent as Pumpkin disappeared
out the door.
Junie froze. Her big sister paused, snatched the Cheerios from the pantry, and tiptoed outside after Pumpkin. Junie didn’t
act. She didn’t follow. Her brain hadn’t even considered that anything else might be required of her.
Georgia had returned a few minutes later, Pumpkin gnawing on a mound of Cheerios in her palms, and efficiently slid the gerbil
back into the cage, dusted off her hands, and said, “Let me help you get her out next time.” Then she exited the room as quickly as she’d arrived.
At the time, Junie was flooded with admiration for her sister, and frankly, she was also flushed with relief knowing she wouldn’t return to school on Monday with an empty cage.
But as the years passed and Junie watched her sister remedy situation after situation without breaking a sweat, the contrast between the two sisters was drawn so starkly in Junie’s mind, it was as if it defined her.
Georgia was competent, a fixer, organized, and proactive.
Junie made messes, rushed in, and didn’t think things through.
Georgia knew better.
Georgia knows better.
Junie runs a hand over the hair chairs covered in drapes. They were supposed to get dolled up as part of this whole thing
too. Recovered, perhaps, in a modern fabric, something that would hold up and didn’t feel like a plastic tablecloth from a
corner pizza restaurant.
It was another part of the plan, part of this big agreement Junie had reached with Goldilocks Haircare as a part of their
“family-run salon investment project.” In exchange for Goldilocks covering part of the cost of a renovation and allowing the
shop to purchase products at a discount, June’s Beauty Shop would feature a display of Goldilocks products, as well as various
branded signage, in a prime location.
Junie had asked Daddy, who manages the accounting for the shop, and he told her the funds required on their end were available.
Now Daddy claims otherwise, that he said some version of “probably” or “maybe” and “I’ll need to look into it further.
” If Junie is completely honest, she might’ve stopped listening after he said, “It probably won’t be an issue, but .
. .” How could she not? The excitement at the possibility, the opportunity, of seeing June’s brought into a new chic era.
Junie did her best to be responsible, checking with the accountant, crossing a decent amount of t’s before charging on, but
at heart, she is a girl obsessed with hair and seeing stars over being close enough to touch one of the trendiest haircare
brands on the market.
That brand alongside June’s Beauty Shop.
The heartbeat of the family.
The only physical piece of Mama left.
The door of the shop scrapes open with a muted jangle of the oversize bell attached to the knob. Even the bells are choking
under construction dust.
Junie turns. Aunt Tina comes first, a compact woman at barely five feet two with her neat, shoulder-length strawberry-blonde bob. She’s flanked by her boyfriend-slash-dependent, Randy, and behind him follows Aunt Cece.
“Alright, Tina. Ten minutes, tops,” Randy says briskly. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Tina turns, opening her mouth to reply.
“I’ve got darts tonight, and I won’t be late because of you girls having some chitchat,” Randy says, and then the door shuts
behind him.
Tina lets out a quiet, practiced sigh.
Cece scowls at the door. “Son of a—”
“Cecelia,” Tina cuts in.
Junie stifles the snicker that erupts, despite the circumstances.
Tina cocks her head from side to side, as if she’s trying to come up with some defense for Randy. Eventually she says, “His
soft skills need some work, I’ll agree to that.”
Cece tuts, making her disagreement clear, then lets it go.
Tina crosses the room to Junie, takes her hands, and squeezes. “We’ll get this figured out, sweetie.” Tina’s voice is as small
as her physical presence. “I spoke to my Tuesday appointments, and they’re ok to keep things hush-hush.”
Junie pulls Tina into a hug, wrapping her easily in her long arms and standing a full head and a half taller. Even if she
is small, Tina makes her love known in a big way. She is Junie’s hairstylist partner at the salon and the woman who kept the
shop open and running after their mama died. Sure, other hairstylist friends tagged in and out to help, and their appointment
capacity fluctuated as Tina, ever the people pleaser, subbed at other small businesses around town.
“Tina, you’ve got your sister’s beauty shop to run.
Why are you waiting tables on Thursdays?
” Cece once asked. Tina might not know how to tell people no, but without her, June’s would’ve shuttered.
Years later, the place was humming along, waiting for Junie as she finished cosmetology school, got her license, and took her spot behind the hair chairs.
Junie releases Tina, who begins walking slow circles around the open floor, taking it all in.
Aunt Cece examines the interior as well, but she is painstaking, covering every surface, her jaw clenched tight, eyes flitting
as if she’s taking mental notes. Cece is the tallest among them, pushing six feet, and she long ago let her dirty-blonde hair
fill with silvery streaks. It came as little to no surprise; Cece shrugged off the whole haircare industry after a short-lived
term at June’s washbowl. Junie knows Cece cares—even if she is a little snappy sometimes—because she continues to show up,
even if Junie suspects Cece might be ok with the shop slipping away into oblivion.
“At least the construction crew mostly cleared out behind themselves,” Cece says. Her face says the rest: “But look at what’s left.”
Junie squeezes a hopeful smile and nods, but despite her efforts, tears fill her eyes. “You’re right. Yup, that is one positive.
But—I’m sorry, y’all.” Junie lets her face fall into her palms.
Tina rushes over and stands between them. “Nonsense, Junie, it was an honest mistake. We all know Rich isn’t always the best
communicator. Not that I’m saying it’s your daddy’s fault—just to be extremely clear—y’all don’t tell him I said that. Promise?
Gosh, I don’t want him to think I’m blaming him.”
Cece swats the air. “Stop. We know what you mean.” She turns to Junie. “And as for you, it’s no help getting upset now. We’ve
got to focus on what we can do next.”
Cece is practical almost to a fault, as if her right mind can override her heart. How could Cece not want to wring Junie’s
neck for ripping apart her twin sister’s salon and proceeding to immediately drop the ball?
“I might feel better if you yelled at me, Aunt Cee,” Junie says. “Just real quick.”
“Not interested in that,” Cece replies.
“Well, I know we probably shouldn’t, but what if we kept doing hair?” Tina asks, shoulders curling in on her in self-doubt.
“Should I have suggested it? Was that awful?”
Junie crosses her arms and opens her eyes wide. “We’d have to be careful.”
Cece lets out a slow, pressured breath. “I hate to say it, but I’m not sure y’all have much choice.”
“One thing . . .” Tina drops her gaze to her toes. “Misty Prince.”
Junie lets out a groan.
Misty Prince is the town busybody. She wishes Whitetail had an HOA that governed every building, so she could run for president
and send people notices for an off-center shingle, a tired flower bed, or a lawn measuring half an inch too high. Misty’s
sunglasses always ride low on her long, slim nose (one that legend states was certainly bought and paid for) so her eyes can
be in other people’s business without barrier. If it were a little glossier and a little less bureaucracy and paperwork, she
might just run for local government. Misty seems to have it out for the Louise women, or maybe it’s June’s Beauty Shop where
her issue lies, but whichever it might be, there’s no mistaking none of them are on her good side.
“Misty might be a piece of work, but she knows better than to mess with June’s,” Cece says.
Junie frowns. “Really? Since when?”
Tina clears her throat. “Sorry, Cece, I don’t mean this the wrong way. I love you, but I have to agree with Junie. I saw her
at the grocery store the other day, and she mentioned seeing a crew at the shop. I knew better than to confirm or deny it
to the old witch, but then she made some sly comment about ‘hopefully there aren’t any appointments going on since it’d be
a terrible licensing violation.’”
Cece’s face turns slightly paler—which is saying something, considering that they all have the fair skin that tends to come with the red hair gene that runs among them. “Alright. Well, maybe I misjudged that one.”
“We’ll need to keep an eye out for her and remind the ladies to keep their appointments quiet,” Junie says.
“Not sure if she thinks driving that big, black Secret Service car makes her blend in or if she just likes the way it brings
her attention.” Cece rolls her eyes.
Junie sighs. “Well, maybe we won’t be in a bind for much longer. I finally called Georgia.”
The room falls silent, Cece and Tina looking to Junie for her to continue.
“She doesn’t know everything, not all the details, just that the shop’s in trouble. She’s coming home tomorrow. So . . .”
In the silence Junie lets hang, she knows they all have the same thought: Maybe Georgia can fix it. With her plans or her
unique ideas or probably, and most likely this time, her checkbook. Georgia is wildly successful with some swanky job in an
Atlanta high-rise, just like Mama planned for her—above and beyond this little salon. Surely covering the fifty thousand dollars
June’s still owes to continue the renovation will be nothing to her bank account.
When Junie packed up the place, there was a whole box filled with Georgia clippings. It didn’t rival the Dolly Parton stuff,
but Georgia is a bit of a Whitetail hero. She always had great community service projects and won all kinds of prizes for
being smart. Played softball and led the team to state—even if she did choose not to pursue one of the athletic scholarships
she was offered. Musical theater, performance in general, was the one space Georgia had left for Junie to thrive in. And thrive
she did, in her own way.
Cece sighs. “There’s nothing I hate quite as much as pulling Georgia back into this place, but I guess there isn’t much choice.”
“Georgia won’t mind,” Tina says. “She loves us and the shop, and she knows how much it means, and her mama—”
“It’s ok,” Junie says, leaning over to squeeze Tina’s arm. “Georgia is always calm and collected. She always knows what to do.”
What Junie doesn’t say is that Georgia has always filled that space because Junie couldn’t. If Junie had all the answers,
she wouldn’t need to lean so heavily on her big sister. It only seems fitting that disaster would strike now, of all times,
right when Junie felt like she was finally taking charge, taking things into her own hands and handling them. Becoming a bit
of her own hero. It’s probably time to simply accept that heroism is not in the cards for Junie.
“As for now, there are no weekend appointments, right?” Junie says.
Tina shakes her head. “Next ones are mine on Tuesday.”
Junie nods efficiently. “Well, let’s get this place straightened up a little before Georgia sees it tomorrow.”