Chapter 25 Georgia
Georgia
It’s Thursday, garage sale day. Anything halfway valuable from Dad’s attic is displayed on the sidewalk outside June’s Beauty
Shop, plus a few things Junie and I were able to scrape together from the Clementine House. We’ve got music playing, food
laid out, and only then, at second glance, do I realize it’s more like a party than a garage sale.
It’s a June’s sale.
Truly, it’s moments like these when I cannot help but believe that my mama is alive and breathing in the bones of this little
beauty shop. Maybe it’s when we come together like a brood of witches that we magic her out of our cauldron by way of a collision
of all things right.
The sun shines so brightly, and the sky is such a crisp blue. Tina is only an outline until she’s right in front of me. Her
bob is perfect, but I don’t have time to complement her.
“I’ve got lotto news!” she squeals. “Let’s circle up.”
“You grab Cece, I’ll get Junie,” I tell her, then turn to head inside.
The interior of the shop is as wrecked as we left it, but I can hear the quiet clinks of Junie cleaning the sink in preparation
for a secret client this afternoon.
“That’s the spirit,” I call over.
“It’s like putting a Band-Aid on a flesh wound, but what can we do but our best?” Junie glances at me, smiling.
“Come on. Tina’s got the lotto numbers, and she’s tickled about something.”
Junie lets out a joyful yelp. “Maybe it’s the answers to all our prayers! Maybe Mama sent us a lotto win!”
I pull my delightfully optimistic sister under my arm and squeeze. “A girl can dream.”
Once we step out into the late-afternoon sunshine, we’re met by the hum of a lingering crowd and the gentle croon of a love
ballad on the Bluetooth speaker. We posted news of the sale on our Instagram and then tapped the trusty Whitetail phone tree
that’s recently migrated to text. Each person knows who to text to keep the news flowing, and many even shared it on their
own social media. Many people made arrangements to be here, making up missed work at another time, coverage to slip in and
out so everyone can take a gander at what the Louises have set out. Because that’s what this town does: They show up.
Junie smiles. “This didn’t turn out so bad after all.”
I tuck my head toward her and under my breath say, “Let’s see how the numbers look at the end.”
Tina marches up with Cece trailing behind her, and we form a small circle on the wraparound sidewalk.
“Alright, ladies, gird your loins!” Tina announces.
Junie and I exchange a grin.
Tina clears her throat. “We, Good Hair Days ladies, are lotto winners!”
Cece’s expression lifts to something less than bothered. “For real? What’s the number?”
“Well,” Tina says. “It’s not a ton. Mainly I’m taking this win as a sign from the heavens or June or Dolly—”
“Dolly Parton is still alive and well,” Junie says.
“You know what I mean,” Tina says. “Anyway, we won forty dollars.”
Cece sighs. I feel like doing the same, but I hold back.
“I guess that’ll cover food and bev on the cheap for the next meeting?” Junie says cautiously.
“That’s our girl.” Tina claps. “It may just be a little, but we’re making our way. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be heading
to the gas station to cash in. Meeting adjourned!”
Cece shoots us a look and takes off, shaking her head.
“Oh well?” I flash Junie a cringy, hopeful smile.
Junie melts into laughter. Her body is up against mine, under my arm, and I feel her shaking and wiggling. I look at her,
and I hope she can see every bit of my utter delight in her all over my face.
“What on earth would I do without you?” I say.
I think this is the part about my sister, and me and her as a unit, that no one else will ever understand. My keeping of Junie
is my love lived out loud. It’s not a burden or an obligation; it’s my adoration of her spelled out in tangible acts. I don’t
begrudge her a single bit because it doesn’t take anything on my part to create the love. Even when I pour it out in senseless
undertakings like our money-making schemes and our underground girls’ meetings, it’s never a bit depleted. It continues, as
if it’s a person as much as we are.
Eventually Junie squeezes out from under my arm and takes off between the small clusters of shoppers like the wild mustang
she is, and I wave goodbye.
The feeling of her closeness stays with me, which is perhaps why I’m feeling strangely calm about the fact that I only have
a couple more days before I have to go back to work. The longer I stay here, the more I feel like I’m doing work that truly
matters, work that even if its progress is slow or imperceptible is moving in the direction of where I want to be.
Part of me feels like there’s a bigger reason for my being here than just the ticker of the bank account shooting for fifty thousand.
I stop and close my eyes to really feel the sun on my skin. I hear the chatter of voices—our customers, I hope. I turn to
the crowd and wander over to Cece, who seems to be losing a negotiation with a shark of a customer.
“That’s far too low a price,” Cece says.
“She’s right. Absolutely too low,” I say.
It’s an eighteenth-century framed oil painting. Granted, the Met won’t be calling to see if they might hang it in their next
exhibit, but the fifty-dollar price tag (with a slight wiggle) is more than fair.
The man looks over to me. “Best I can do is thirty.”
“Well, I guess you’d better be on your way,” I say with a sweet smile.
He turns and huffs off, and Cece shoots me an icy look.
“I don’t need your help,” she says. “You may be a fancy businessperson, but I also run a small business. I’ve got this.”
Her reaction cuts me back to earth, almost so much that I feel mud between my toes. “Sorry,” I say. “I was just trying to
help.”
From across the lot I see Eddie arrive. He stops at the edge and scans the crowd, and once he sets eyes on Junie, he makes
a straight cut through the crowd to her. She leaps into his arms, and he welcomes her into a family-friendly bear hug. They
rock back and forth, chatting and eventually laughing. Envy creeps into my chest in a hot burn.
Stop, I tell myself. This is your own doing.
When Junie finally extricates herself from Eddie’s sturdy arms (which I unfortunately have experienced firsthand), she heads
my way. Eddie raises a hand in greeting, and I return the gesture.
“Thanks for everything, Peach,” Junie says as she passes me and enters the beauty shop.
Thanks for Eddie is what I hear.
A silver-haired lady pulls up in a wide sedan, parks, and hops out.
She must be a regular, one of the appointments Junie agreed to keep.
Likely one of the Silvers, the affectionate name folks use around here for the silver-haired ladies who tend to gather at churches and restaurants and sometimes walk laps at the high school track in the early morning.
She lingers near the front door like she’s casually leaning against the wall, then after she looks both ways, she slips inside the entrance.
Those Silvers sure do know how to follow a directive.
I smile. The Silvers always remind me of Mama. The lot of them have been tried-and-true customers at June’s since forever,
and they were Mama’s favorites. She’d gab with them for hours, feeding and serving them drinks just to keep them and their
stories flowing in her space. They’re our A-list clients, if we have any.
They’re also known as good shepherds in the community—cooking for funerals, cooking when babies are born, delivering flowers
to the hospital.
I turn around, take three steps, and slam straight into someone. I look up and see a cosmetically enhanced face, slathered
in heavy makeup and framed in blonde layers, staring back. Misty Prince.
“Misty, hi,” I say, praying she didn’t see anyone go into the shop, but judging from the direction she came from, I hope she’s
just arriving. “Surprised to see you at a garage sale.”
Misty pulls her sunglasses from her hair. “Home for the big event? Didn’t think workaholics like you took days off. And for
the record, no, this is definitely not my thing.” Her lips turn up at the end.
I pull a fake smile. “Any day now we’ll have the shop finished and a grand reopening on the books.”
Misty leans in and winks. “Reopening, sure. And you know the real reason I’m here is to keep y’all aboveboard. You Louises think you run this town, but there’s a new
sheriff now.”
Misty stands and looks at me, and I wonder if I’m supposed to gasp or rush for clarification, but I have neither the energy nor the desire for it. “Alright.”
I cross my arms and watch her disappear into the crowd. Once I’m sure she’s not watching, I text Junie a warning, and a minute
later she sends back a picture of her and her client sheltering in the supply closet. I keep my eye on Misty as she winds
in and out of the crowd. Before long she climbs back up into her massive SUV with empty hands and drives off in the direction
of her gaudy McMansion.