Making Waves (30 page)

Stopped as we were by the highway, we were right across from Essie Kennedy's old place, the house where Tim and Donnette now lived. Donnette had taken over her aunt's beauty shop, so Aunt Della had told me. She was mostly supporting herself and Tim, though he also worked some at the lumber mill for Jack Floyd, Uncle Cleve's brother.

From the ambulance window in back, I looked at the big old white house. It needed painting, especially around the porch. I could see Donnette's beauty shop, a picture window reflecting the movement of figures inside, though I couldn't make out who they were. Someone pressed against the glass, trying to see who was in the ambulance, I guess.

So this is how Tim had ended up.

An unbearable pain, sharp in my chest, swept over me. Oh, Jesus! How would I ever live in this town, seeing his house every day as I passed by, riding to the university? How could I stand it, knowing Tim was there, in that shabby house, supported by his wife as he limped through his life, never able to do anything else, working part-time at the lumber mill, helping out at the high school?

Just as the ambulance pulled past the house and toward the highway, I saw the sign. It had been in front of me the whole time, of course. It was right in my line of vision as I looked at the house, but I'd not really noticed it, seeing only that it said “Making Waves” and advertised the beauty shop.

I saw the town of Clarksville, painted all around the edges of the sign—painted by a true artist, an incredible sight in these parts. It was unbelievably good, I realized with a shock, my mind going back to the art appreciation class I'd had as a freshman, the long hours spent in the museums of New Orleans.

Astonished, I suddenly realized the source—I could see it plain as day. Tenth grade, one day in study hall. I borrowed Tim's notebook to copy his notes, and everything spilled out from the back pocket—all the pictures he'd drawn. Incredible pictures. I'd marveled at them, sketches of the football team, the high school, Donnette, me—but Tim had angrily yanked them away from me and refused to let me see them again, or talk about them. No matter how I bugged him, he never let me mention them again.

Tim had drawn the town of Clarksville on that sign. I knew it as sure as I'd ever known anything.

I glanced down at Aunt Della. She had dozed off, worn out from the confrontation and the excitement, no doubt. Wearily, I rubbed my eyes as we pulled onto the Columbus Highway, toward the clinic. I watched out the window as the sign grew smaller in the distance. My eyes began to burn and I blinked back tears, glancing again down at Aunt Della. Oh, Jesus Christ.

Wake up, Aunt Della, and pray to your Jesus for me. Pray that somehow I'm going to be able to stand this—that somehow, some way, I can make it up to Tim for my part in screwing up his life
.

When I looked out my beauty shop window and saw that Sarah Williams woman standing in my front yard looking at the new sign, I like to have died. I was doing Miss Edna Earl Andrews's hair, and I was so startled that I spilled White Minx toner all down her back. “Oh, Mrs. Andrews! I'm so sorry!” I quickly jumped to get another towel, and when I did, I knocked over the tray of hair rollers that I had by the sink. I was that flustered.

Miss Edna Earl kind of glared at me. She grabbed the towel from my hand and began wiping the toner off herself. I could tell she was really pissed. She's not the friendliest woman in town anyway. Aunt Essie used to shake her head whenever she looked at the appointment book and saw Edna Earl Andrews's name written there. “Here comes Miss Trouble,” she'd sigh. Daddy always said wherever an Andrews was, trouble would follow. Of course Miss Edna Earl was only an Andrews by marriage, but that didn't matter; she acted like them anyway. Always bad-mouthing folks and finding fault, eager to look on the bad side of everything—that's an Andrews for you.

Miss Edna Earl was back again this morning because she pitched a damn Andrews fit the other day when I gave her a perm and then the color wouldn't take on it. Never does on a fresh perm, but no, you can't tell her nothing. So I told her to wait a week or two and we'd try the color again. I didn't want to because it was bound to damage her hair, but she wouldn't listen to me. Oh well, at least her hair would match her brain.

I wouldn't have been so thrown off course by seeing Sarah Williams standing in my front yard staring at my sign if anybody but Miss Edna Earl had been in the shop. I tried to hurry and get her rolled up in case Sarah came in here. Well, surely she wouldn't, but in case she did, I didn't want an Andrews sitting there soaking it all in.

Miss Edna Earl was griping as I rolled up her hair. “I swear, Donnette, you are as rough and clumsy as Essie used to be! Not only that, I couldn't do a thing with my hair the way you fixed it last time.” And on and on she went.

I kept nodding “Yes, ma'am” polite as all get-out, because I was raised that way, but in my mind I was wishing the old witch would shut up. My hands were shaking like everything so I probably was clumsier than usual this morning. I kept glancing out the window and trying to figure out what on earth Sarah Williams was doing out there. She sure was looking hard at my sign.

I couldn't help but picture her and Taylor together, after what Ellis told me the other day. I knew there were women like her, older women, who go for younger men. But Taylor Dupree! That was beyond my comprehension. Then suddenly it dawned on me, fool that I am. I was so flabbergasted I almost yanked Miss Edna Earl's head off.

“Owww!” she yelled at me, practically coming out of the seat, rollers and all. “Dammit, Donnette, I swear to God if you do that one more time I'm
never
coming back to you again! I've been wanting to try out that new shop at the mall in Columbus, but naturally under the circumstances I wanted to help you and that poor deformed husband of yours—”

I began apologizing hard as I could to Miss Edna Earl, trying my best to get her to shut her face, because now I could see out of the corner of my eye that Sarah Williams
was
coming up the walkway. I knew plain as day she was coming to talk to me about Tim, that Taylor had put her up to it.

“Oh, Miss Edna Earl, I am so sorry—I'm just nervous today. I don't know what is wrong with me—” I blabbered on as I hurried to get her under the dryer.

She was still squawking like a wet hen when I pulled down the dryer top and shut her mouth finally. In disgust she picked up a
Glamour
magazine and flipped it open. But as I started back to the sink, she lifted the dryer to get in one last word.

“You better thank your lucky stars I'm not the kind of person who goes all around town complaining—you'd lose every customer you got. Then where would you be, with an invalid husband to support?”

I'd barely gotten back to the sink when the door opened and Sarah Williams walked in. I stared at her, not believing my eyes that she'd come in here like this. But it did stand to reason that if she'd taken up with Taylor, she'd want to patch things up between him and Tim, to get on his good side.

Sarah was the kind of woman who's sort of pretty and sort of plain. Frankly, I didn't see what all the fuss was about, why all the men in town were slobbering all over themselves because of her. I had called Dink the night before to try and talk to him like I promised Ellis. Sure enough, he wouldn't listen to me; instead all he could talk about was this good-looking woman who'd been coming into the Zippy Mart with Taylor Dupree. Some men will chase anything with a skirt on. Look at Dink, after that plain church-mouse Glenda Rountree.

“Good morning,” I said to Sarah Williams as she came into the shop. I pretended I didn't know who she was, as though everybody in town wasn't talking about her and Taylor! But I wasn't going to let on one bit.

“Good morning.” She smiled at me, looking kind of curious. She wasn't any bigger than a minute and was dressed in a pair of cutoff blue jeans and an FSU tee shirt. I could tell she didn't have a bra on, and she don't have near as much as I do. Her body's small and trim, like she exercises a lot. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she didn't have on a bit of makeup. Lord, there wasn't nothing to her after all! If she'd get that hair frosted and a makeup palette of some peach and gold shades, then she'd be a knockout.

“Are you Donnette Sullivan?” She smiled at me again, coming on over by the dryer. She smelled nice, like some kind of sweet flower. Maybe a gardenia. But I knew what she was here for, and I was on my toes. I wasn't gonna be taken in by no sweet-smelling perfume or friendly smile.

“That's me. What do you need done? Looks to me like you could use a conditioner.” I glanced up at her while I cleaned the brushes in the sink, nonchalant-like.

“Donnette. I've heard about you but haven't met you yet. I'm Maudie Ferguson's niece, Sarah Williams.” She still was smiling friendly as everything, but I wasn't fooled.

“Oh, yeah. I remember hearing that you were here.” No point in having her think I wasn't very bright. Surely she knew everybody was talking about her.

She looked at me kind of knowingly. Her eyes were an odd color, a sort of golden green. With just a little jade eyeliner and a touch of gold shadow—I looked back quickly to the sink.

“I got an opening now if you want to get that conditioner,” I told her.

I knew she hadn't come for no appointment, but to my surprise she reached back and pulled the rubber band off her ponytail, shaking her hair out. I was astonished. Her hair was beautiful, thick and heavy as it swirled about her shoulders.

“Sounds great. Maybe you could give me a trim, too, while you're at it.”

Well, before I could get her seated at the sink, Miss Edna Earl threw the dryer top up and stared at us suspiciously. I'd forgotten the old hag was even over there, which was always a mistake with an Andrews.

“Donnette! I need you to check my hair this very minute. And I specifically asked for a time when no one else would be here so you could get my hair right this time.”

Her fat face was shaking, she was so mad. She glared at me and Sarah Williams both.

“By all means, Donnette, attend to her first,” Sarah told me. She seated herself at the sink and proceeded to brush out her hair.

“She ain't ready; she just got under the dryer,” I whispered. But I went over anyway and loosened a curl and checked it. Still wet, just as I knew it'd be. At least the toner took, though.

“You're not quite ready, Miss Edna Earl. Don't you want me to get you a Coke or something from the drink machine?”

Miss Edna Earl never looked at me; she was staring like everything at Sarah Williams.

“Who is that woman?” she said, loud. I was embarrassed to death.

It didn't seem to faze Sarah, but I noticed she acted different with Miss Edna Earl; she seemed more dignified, more like a professor when she turned and looked at her. I could tell Miss Edna Earl wasn't going to rattle her.

“I'm Maudie Ferguson's niece from Florida, Sarah Williams. I believe we met at the funeral home the other night, Mrs. Andrews.”

Miss Edna Earl stared at Sarah suspiciously. “I thought Maudie's niece was a doctor. You sure look different than you did at the funeral home.”

“I normally don't dress for a funeral every day, Mrs. Andrews,” Sarah drawled, turning back to the mirror.

Miss Edna Earl's narrow little pig eyes took in the shorts and tee shirt and sandals. She even went so far as to pick up her glasses and put them on and stare harder. But it still didn't faze Sarah a bit. Hand it to her, she was a cool one.

I hurriedly stuck Miss Edna Earl back under the dryer and went back to the sink, but Miss Edna Earl kept her glasses on and continued to stare. I knew for sure that we'd be hearing from her again.

“I can come back later if you want me to,” Sarah said to me.

I quickly shampooed and applied conditioner to her hair so I could get her out. The whole situation was making me more and more nervous, like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. I definitely wanted Sarah out before Tim came home for lunch.

“No, no. Don't pay Miss Edna Earl no mind, she's always like that.”

“Occupational hazard, huh?” Sarah smiled, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I noticed she had smile lines around her eyes and mouth, but that was all. Her skin, like the rest of her, was firm and tight. And she was very tanned from living in Florida, I reckon. Either that or sunbathing half-naked with Taylor down by the river. I shuddered to think of it.

As I was toweling her hair, Sarah's eyes again locked into mine in the mirror. “Donnette, I didn't really come to get my hair done today. Actually, I came to meet you. I'd really like to talk to you.”

I combed through her hair carefully. It was shoulder-length and had so much body. It made me feel all stringy-headed with my permed curls going ever which a way. What I wouldn't do for nice thick hair like this!

“I can't imagine what you would have to talk to me about,” I lied. “Do you just want the ends trimmed?”

I wasn't kidding about being surprised at her being here. If she was here on Taylor's behalf, looks like she'd be a little more subtle. Maybe that's the way they do things in Florida.