Chapter 34 Georgia
Georgia
After we got home from June’s last night, we went to bed early, and this morning Junie took off with Eddie. She said she’d
come by the shop this afternoon, and now I sit twirling myself in a hair chair waiting for her arrival, braiding my hair in
front of my right shoulder. It makes me think of Sophie. I tie the end and work my way up, loosening the braid to make it
fuller. Fluffier, as Mama would say.
Late last night, racked with guilt, I reached out to Felix. It wasn’t the best time, and I shouldn’t have left it until the
last minute, but I felt so torn it was as if the pain in my chest was an actual crack in my human makeup. He was kind. And
somehow that made me feel worse.
I understand, Georgia. Family is important. We’re managing ok here, but of course look forward to your return. Keep me updated.
Felix Monrovian
VP, Customer Service
I know there’s only so long I can extend my absence.
Especially when the other executive assistants are probably already circling in hopes of snagging the position.
The higher the executive, the higher the assistant position pays, and three junior leaders have assistants who I’m sure would be happy to take a salary bump.
As I consider the idea of someone else snagging my job, it strikes me that it feels more like relief than loss.
The bell on the salon door clatters, and it’s a welcome distraction from the train of thought I’m on, one that will only lead
me to the same conclusion. That here is where I’m meant to be, meant to stay. I swivel to face the door, hoping to see Junie walking in.
“Junie here?” It’s Ms. Sherry.
“Unfortunately not. I’ve been waiting on her too,” I say. “Any way I can help?”
“Well, I just wanted to come by and notify y’all. I was in here last week, and long story short . . . I have lice.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding.”
Ms. Sherry cringes. “I wish I was. I wanted to let y’all know, but I’m also not sure where else I could’ve gotten it from.”
She wobbles a little on her feet. “Not that I’m trying to lay blame. My daughter found it on me, and she only saw a couple
of the little nits—so it was very early. She’s a bit paranoid about little flecks in hair since her kids got it a couple years
ago. Apparently it’s going around the elementary school again, and she’s been checking her kids religiously.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “Junie’s the one in charge here, but I agree that it’s always possible we gave them to you.”
She flaps a hand. “I’m not mad, honey,” she says. “I just didn’t want to spread it to anyone else—though a couple of the other
Silvers mentioned they’d check themselves and keep an eye out for itchiness. Plus, Georgia Louise Scott, you are a Whitetail
hero. You’ve made this town proud—no apologies necessary.”
I smile, but it doesn’t make it to my eyes. I’ll be letting down the Silvers, too, when it eventually comes out what’s really become of me.
“Can I have Junie call you as soon as she gets here? She knows more about the schedule and how it might’ve happened.”
“Of course.” Ms. Sherry turns toward the door.
“And count your next five haircuts as on the house,” I call behind her.
Once the door clatters shut my professional smile vanishes, and I sprint to the best-lit mirror I can find and pull my hair
apart. I check the crown of my head and the sides as best I can—I won’t have any luck at the back. I take my time and slowly
move through the strands.
Lice is my absolute worst nightmare. Just the thought of almost invisible bugs crawling all over my scalp and head and laying
their eggs on my hair is enough to push me to the point of shaving it all off.
The lower the hair, the smaller the louse house. I could give it a whirl.
I don’t find anything in my hair to suggest I’ve got it, but I do wonder if I need to add a scalp oil to my hair routine because
my scalp is looking dry. My whole body is itchy now. The likelihood of my having it is probably minute. It’s probably just
in my mind, but what if it’s not? It’s all purely psychological. Maybe?
I pull out my phone and text Junie for the fourth time without reply. CODE BUG! CODE BUG! 911.
That, if nothing else, will get the girl on the phone.
As I wait for her to call, I go to the supply room to see if we have a nit comb hiding out in there. I’m shuffling around
when my phone lights up and jiggles to life.
“Where on earth have you been that lice is the only thing to get you on the line?” I demand.
“Sorry, I was in an appointment,” she says, more subdued than the frantic (even explosive) response I expected.
“Ok, well, Ms. Sherry has lice. She was really nice about it, but apparently her daughter checks her grandkids like a drill sergeant, and timeline-wise she thinks she might’ve gotten it from here. Do you remember the day she came in? Could she be right?”
The other end of the line is quiet, and I’m not sure if Junie is still connected.
“Hello?” I ask.
“I think I might have an idea how this happened,” Junie says. “Let me finish up here and I’ll come right there. Thirty minutes
tops.”