by Stacy Adams
They managed to remain friends, and that relationship had served both of them better. Brian helped Shelby weed out the players she sometimes wound up dating, and Shelby introduced him to Indigo. She was firm, however, about not crossing boundaries with either friend. When Indigo shared a confidence, she didn’t betray it, and vice versa.
Tonight, though, that rule was infuriating Brian. He wanted to know where he stood with his fiancée. Keyshia Cole’s “Heaven Sent” wafted through the speakers: I wanna be the one who you believe, in your heart, is sent from heaven.
“Give me something, Shelby,” he said. “Anything.”
Shelby sighed and reached to turn off the music. “Brian, you’re getting ready to go to Officer Candidate School. We both are. We’ll be on lockdown for twelve weeks, and you want Indigo to spend her summer planning a wedding, all by herself? And what about her grad school plans? It’s a prestigious program and it’s only for two years. What’s the rush?”
Brian loosened his grip on the steering wheel and spoke softly, in case his parents were listening. He answered as if he were addressing a child. “I want to marry the girl I’ve been dating for the past three years and that’s a problem? Maybe I just want to do the right thing, Shelby.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
Brian paused. “Nothing,” he said. “Just know that I want what’s best for Indigo too. Let’s change the subject. Who are you dating these days?”
Shelby replied by turning toward the window and laying her head against the seat. She drifted to sleep and left Brian fretting over what she knew but didn’t care to share.
Indigo loved him; he wasn’t worried about that. Now it was time for her to prove how much.
3
Getting a shampoo from Aunt Melba was almost as good as a visit to the spa.
Carmen, the salon assistant, usually washed Indigo’s hair when she visited during college breaks, but Carmen had requested the day off and Aunt Melba was multitasking.
Indigo rested her neck in the curve of the shampoo bowl and tried not to doze off. Aunt Melba gently scratched, then deeply massaged Indigo’s scalp and, in the process, sloughed away the tension filling her neck and shoulders.
“You just graduated from college. What’s got you so uptight?”
Indigo laughed nervously. “I’m starting my newspaper internship in a few days. Gotta get ready for grad school soon. And now I’ve got to think about a fiancé.”
Aunt Melba paused and looked at her. “Everything okay?”
Indigo shrugged. No need to raise concern about things she was still sorting out. “Life’s just busy, that’s all.”
Aunt Melba helped Indigo sit upright and quickly toweled most of the moisture out of her hair.
When Indigo was seated under a dryer, Aunt Melba turned and surveyed the rest of the crew. Rachelle had brought them all—herself and her daughter, Taryn; Indigo; and Indigo’s younger sister, Yasmin.
“Who’s next?”
The two teens, Yasmin and Taryn, looked at each other, but didn’t reply.
“Come on, Rachelle,” Aunt Melba said and waved her over. “Those divas-in-training are still trying to get it together.” She looked at Rachelle’s head and chuckled. “It won’t take me long to wash what’s left anyway.”
Rachelle laughed too. “You did it. And I still love it.”
“Me too!” Indigo piped up from under her dryer. The subtle hum of the low setting allowed her to hear their conversation with ease.
The super-short, layered ’do was a first for Rachelle, and Indigo was still getting used to the fact that Rachelle’s soft black hair no longer flowed past her shoulders. The dangling copper earrings that grazed her shoulders complemented her fresh style.
Rachelle had always looked youthful, but this blunt cut made her look a decade younger than her forty-three years. People often did double takes when they saw her with Tate and Taryn, now seventeen and fifteen, and learned that she was their mother rather than an older sister or an aunt.
“You’ve been a walking advertisement,” Melba told Rachelle as she washed her hair. “I’m getting calls every week from ladies who want ‘that style you gave Rachelle Covington.’ Kelly, my receptionist, has decided to stay home with her new baby. I need to find her replacement soon, just to handle calls from all of these Rachelle wannabes!”
Rachelle chuckled. “It’s a great conversation starter with my new clients. I’m trying to do their eye exams and they’re trying to figure out how I came to town and within a month found someone to keep my hair looking fabulous. I tell them that before I moved to Jubilant I drove down from Houston on more than one occasion when I needed your special touch.”
Melba put Rachelle under the dryer next to Indigo and pulled up a chair to talk with them.
“You aren’t going to do the girls’ hair?” Rachelle asked her.
“In a minute.” Aunt Melba sighed. “All this extra work has me tired. I know I still look good, but I’m getting old! I’ve interviewed two young ladies who want to rent space and see their own clients here. They’ll start next week, and if they’re good, I may let them take on some of my new clients.”
Aunt Melba looked at Indigo. “While I take a breather, let’s get back to you.”
Indigo frowned. “What’s up?”
Melba and Rachelle exchanged glances.
“What?” Indigo said. She lifted her head from beneath the dryer and leaned toward Aunt Melba.
“We saw you calculating what to say when Brian proposed to you last week.” Rachelle had lowered her voice so Taryn and Yasmin couldn’t hear. They sat nearby, in Melba’s cozy waiting area, flipping through magazines.
Indigo’s eyes widened. These ladies knew her too well.
“Well, yes, but . . .”
Aunt Melba put a hand on her thigh and pursed her lips. “Anytime there’s a ‘but,’ you need to tread carefully, Indigo. Do you want to marry Brian or not?”
“I do!” Indigo said. “I love him. He’s a wonderful guy. It’s just that he’s ready now and I’d like to wait until I finish grad school. He’s joining the military and all and wants his wife to travel the world with him.”
Rachelle sat back under her dryer and folded her arms. “You know my story. Don’t rush into something you’ll regret later, no matter how wonderful he is.”
“I’m trying not to,” Indigo said, “but I don’t want to lose him, either.”
Aunt Melba nodded at Indigo. “You’re right—you don’t want to lose a good man, and Brian is that for sure. Here’s what I think—”
Before she could finish the thought, Aunt Melba gasped and grabbed her head with both hands.
“Aunt Melba?!” Indigo’s breath flew from her body.
Rachelle caught Aunt Melba before she toppled out of the chair. She slumped in Rachelle’s arms and her eyes rolled backward. Indigo reached for her purse to grab her cell phone, but when she couldn’t find it in the floppy leather bag, she yelled for Taryn and Yasmin.
“Call 911! Aunt Melba has collapsed!”
Yasmin, who seemed frozen with fear, snapped back to the present. She ran to the phone located on the wall next to Aunt Melba’s hair station.
Indigo watched her younger sister dial and knelt on the floor next to Rachelle and Aunt Melba. She took Aunt Melba’s hand in hers, and rubbed the back of it. A movie scene seemed to be unfolding in slow motion before her eyes.
“She’s still breathing,” Rachelle said after checking Melba’s pulse and placing her ear near her aunt’s slightly open mouth. She tilted Melba’s head back at what looked like an awkward angle. “This will keep her airway open until help arrives.”
Within seconds, Indigo heard the siren as an ambulance approached.
Thank God. She couldn’t lose her favorite aunt.
4
The news was good: Aunt Melba was still alive. But Indigo could tell by the doctor’s pensive eyes that the Burns family shouldn’t be celebrating just yet.
>
“Ms. Mitchell is stable, but she is a very sick woman.”
The emergency room physician, Ray Patterson, stood in the center of the ICU waiting room, surrounded by the entire family, including Rachelle’s dad, and Melba’s brother, Herbert. He had arrived at the hospital just an hour ago. Soon after Rachelle’s call, he boarded a flight from Philadelphia and had flown in a puddle jumper for the last leg of the trip from Houston’s international airport to Jubilant’s regional one.
A frown creased his otherwise smooth brown face, and he clutched the hand of his other sister, Indigo’s mother, Irene.
Dr. Patterson elevated his voice so everyone could hear, but he specifically addressed Irene, who was Melba’s designated decision maker.
“She suffered a major stroke in the left frontal lobe of the brain, which means she is paralyzed on the right side of her body, and her speech may be impaired.”
Mama and Uncle Herbert looked at each other.
“It’s too early to give an accurate prognosis, but she is stable.”
Gabe spoke up. “You’re not giving us much of anything, Doc.”
Dr. Patterson shrugged. “I’m trying to be realistic, Dr. Covington. I don’t want to give you false hope. She’s not out of the woods. We’re doing everything we can to keep her stable and to possibly turn things around. Right now she is awake, but she can’t talk or move. We’re trying to keep her as comfortable as possible and get her ready for follow-up tests in the morning. We’ll know more then.”
Indigo wanted to tell the doctor that, while Aunt Melba was a practical businesswoman, her faith would trump all doubt, even in a situation as dire as this. Instead, she zeroed in on how her mother was holding up and prayed that this crisis wouldn’t overwhelm her.
“Thanks for all you’re doing, Doctor,” Mama told Dr. Patterson. Uncle Herbert shook his hand. “Can we see her?”
Dr. Patterson surveyed the group. “Some of you, but not all of you. I know you want to make sure she’s okay, but it would be best if not everyone tried to go in tonight.”
Mama looked at Daddy. “You coming with me?”
He squeezed her hand and they followed Dr. Patterson down the hall.
Indigo watched her parents leave, thankful that they had each other.
“Want to go next?” Brian asked her. He hugged her gently, and she realized she was thankful for him too. When she had called him in tears just before noon, Brian jumped in the car and drove down from Austin. He had already resigned from his job in Dallas and was spending the next few weeks with his parents, before leaving for OCS.
“I’ll go in after Uncle Herbert, and Rachelle and Gabe,” Indigo said.
She would likely be the last visitor of the day since Dr. Patterson wanted Aunt Melba to rest, but she needed to check on Aunt Melba. She couldn’t get the image of Melba slumped on the salon floor out of her mind, and she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t see for herself how her aunt was faring.
Indigo sat on the edge of her seat, anxious for her parents to return. The ten minutes seemed more like thirty.
Mama’s eyes were red and her face was drawn when she entered the waiting area. Rachelle stood and embraced her.
After a few seconds, Mama pulled away and took a deep breath. She mustered a smile. “It’s alright. This is all very scary, but I know that God is here with my sister, and with us. We can listen to the doctors, but we really need to just trust God.”
Uncle Herbert patted Mama’s shoulder on his way out of the waiting room. Rachelle kissed Mama’s cheek, then she and Gabe followed Uncle Herbert.
When it was Indigo’s turn, she felt like she and Brian had stepped inside an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Tubes canvassed Aunt Melba’s arms and chest. Her hands were strapped to her sides, and consistently timed beeps and pings from the various machines keeping her alive punctured the silence in this somber, sterile environment.
The right side of Aunt Melba’s face appeared slack, and she looked as if she had aged fifteen years in a matter of hours. Where was the vibrant aunt Indigo knew and loved? This couldn’t be happening.
Indigo approached Aunt Melba and leaned in close to her ear. She caressed Melba’s forehead.
“Auntie, I need you to get better, okay?” she said softly. “You know I love you. Don’t let this get the best of you. We need you. And besides, you left me hanging just as you were about to give me some great advice.”
Indigo tried to chuckle, but the laugh got caught behind the lump that had formed in her throat. She stood there, taking in this broken image of her beautiful aunt, who had always encouraged her and told her she could do and be anything. Aunt Melba backed up those words with action. Her graduation gift to Indigo was a savings account with a healthy balance that would help pay for grad school.
Based on her aunt’s current condition and Dr. Patterson’s cautious diagnosis, it would be awhile before Melba would be ready to welcome clients into her seat at Hair Pizzazz. Aunt Melba needed her encouragement now. Indigo was ready to give her whatever support was needed.
Indigo kissed her aunt’s forehead. Aunt Melba’s eyes fluttered and she tried to talk.
“I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Indigo told her. “What is it, Aunt Melba? It’s okay; calm down.”
Aunt Melba continued to fidget, and Indigo knew she wouldn’t relax until she conveyed what was troubling her. Because the nurses had her hands strapped down, she could only move so much. When she tried to speak, she didn’t realize that just half of her mouth was moving. The right side remained slack.
“Har . . . har. . . my har . . .”
Indigo leaned in and grasped Melba’s hand.
“Are you trying to say ‘hair salon,’ Aunt Melba?”
Melba sighed and nodded once. She closed her eyes and sank into her pillow.
“Don’t worry about that right now. It will be okay,” Indigo said.
Melba grew agitated again and shook her head.
A male nurse entered the room and added more medicine to her IV. Within seconds, she grew calm and dozed off.
“We don’t want her moving or trying to talk,” he said. “We want her to rest.”
But Indigo took Aunt Melba’s agitation as a good sign. She was in the fight, and Indigo had to believe she was going to win.
5
Indigo knew better. She had learned the skills she should be applying right now in a freshman-level photography course: focus on your subject, put her at ease, and concentrate on making the poses as natural and as unscripted as possible.
Unfortunately for her and for this kind older woman, she could care less about all of that. At least, not today.
Instead of enjoying the photo shoot in this lush backyard, she just wanted it to end. Aunt Melba was coming home from the rehab facility today. She wanted to help her get settled.
Besides, she felt a headache coming on. Those annoying halo-like shapes that sometimes clouded her vision when she spent too much time in the sun had returned. She couldn’t tell Ms. Harrow that, though; she had to keep trudging.
“Don’t look at the camera, Ms. Harrow,” Indigo said. “Keep your eyes on the flowers. Smell them like you normally do and forget that I’m here.”
The Jubilant Herald’s two photographers despised assignments like this, where they were required to shoot what they considered fluff photos for the paper’s Home and Garden section. It thrilled them when a freelancer got the assignment or, as was the case with Indigo, a current or recent college student joined the staff for the summer. The extra help allowed them to skip the lightweight stuff and capture photos for the front page or the local news section.
Indigo didn’t care to compete for those assignments anyway. She hadn’t wavered from her plans to photograph still life, nature, and other fine art images as a career. This kind of newspaper work was giving her practical experience that would make a difference long term.
Today, however, Ms. Harrow was working her nerves. She bit her lip to keep
from saying something she’d later regret. Mama had raised her better than that; respecting her elders was a given, not an option.
Lord, if I can’t move her along, will you?
Aunt Melba would be arriving at Indigo’s parents’ house in half an hour. Indigo had agreed to give up her bedroom so Melba would have easy access to the primary rooms in the house while she recovered from the stroke.
Indigo’s bedroom had a small private bathroom and was the closest of the four bedrooms to the kitchen and family room. Melba wouldn’t have to navigate too far down the hall in her wheelchair and, eventually, with her walker. To make her aunt feel more welcome, Indigo had removed pictures of herself and Brian from the bedroom walls and had replaced them with images of Aunt Melba in better times. She couldn’t wait to see her aunt’s face when she was wheeled into the room.
Finally, Ms. Harrow gave Indigo a pose she could live with. The thin, auburn-haired woman cut a long-stemmed rose and held it to her nose. She closed her green eyes and inhaled its fragrance. The sun set on the horizon, behind her, just as Indigo snapped the picture.
Ms. Harrow pushed herself up from the ground with one fist and wiped grass clippings from the knees of her royal blue capris.
“Did you get what you needed, dear?”
Terms of endearment from strangers or new acquaintances usually annoyed her, but in her second week at the newspaper, Indigo had decided she’d better get used to them. She was interacting with people from all walks of life, trying to make them feel comfortable being photographed for a publication that thousands would see. If they wanted to call her affectionate pet names because she looked eighteen instead of her actual twenty-two years, so be it.
“Yes, ma’am, I think we’re good to go,” she said and quickly removed her zoom lens. She tucked it and the camera into a black shoulder bag and approached Ms. Harrow.
“I’m sorry to rush off, but I have another commitment,” Indigo said. She extended her hand to Ms. Harrow and they shook. “It was a pleasure to meet you, though. I’m going to review the photos when I’m in the office tomorrow, and one of them will be in the Herald next weekend, as the cover art for the section.”
