book.pdf (4 page)

done. During the workday, when the shop was in full swing, there were too

many distractions. The Nu U staff normally got in around ten and they were

a lively bunch. After they arrived and the shop opened, piped in music

would play on overhead speakers and a steady flow of customers came in

throughout the day.

Cynthia did not have to work; her husband’s business did quite well, but

these few hours a week were just what she needed at this point in her life.

When Vi asked her to come and work at Nu U a few years back, Cynthia had

been surprised. After all, she had been dead set against Vi opening up this

beauty shop in the first place. As she turned the coffeemaker on, she

thought about that time. It had been a difficult time for both of them.

“Vi, you can’t be serious. I mean, opening a beauty parlor at your age.

What do you know about running a business?”

“It’s not a beauty parlor, it’s going to be a salon/day spa and for your

information I plan to take management courses.”

Cynthia could tell Vi was upset, but then so was she. She was, after all, the

older, more responsible one and she couldn’t stand by and let Vi squander

her dead husband’s life insurance money on a whim.

“Vi, don’t be foolish. It’s ridiculous for you to think about going back to

school at this stage of your life, much less trying to start a business.”

Unable to hold her temper any longer, Vi told her sister, “Thanks for the

support Cyn. I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you. I’m a

grown woman and I don’t need your permission.”

“What you need to do is leave that money in the bank and work on finding

a husband and father for your kids,” Cynthia shot back.

“Oh, like the last jackass you set me up with? No thanks.”

After that, their discussion deteriorated into a shouting match. Afterwards,

Vi didn’t speak to Cynthia for over two months. Although Cynthia still felt

19

strongly about the choices Vi was making, she did start to miss spending

time with the family. Cynthia and her husband had no children. Because of

this she treated Vi’s children like her own, showering a multitude of affection

on them since they were babies.

Within the first few weeks after their argument, Cynthia started feeling

badly, but no amount of coaxing would make Vi come for Sunday dinner or

talk to her on the phone. Vi made a point to only spoke to Cynthia out of

necessity. Fortunately, Cynthia was able to keep up with things through her

nephew, Craig. She began calling Vi’s house when she knew Vi would not

be home and knew Craig would pick up the phone. It was through Craig that

Cynthia found out Vi did, in fact, enroll in those business courses at night.

He also told her Vi found a part-time job that made it possible for her to be

home when the kids got home from school. What she didn’t know was that

during those tough times, Vi used the insurance money to pay the bills and

take up the slack, while she finished her night classes. Then she did

something that some people only dream about all their lives. Vi used what

was left of the insurance money and opened her business. Her sole reason

for starting the business, she’d told Cynthia later on, was to provide a decent

living for her family. As it turned out, the business became much more than

that.

When Craig proudly announced to his aunt just how well his mom’s shop

was doing, Cynthia was more than a little surprised. It appeared Vi had

showed them all. Apparently she possessed a business savvy and a natural

flair for style that the family didn’t know about. Her salon seemed to fill a

need in the neighborhood and catered to everyone. Nu U was not just a

salon—it was an oasis, where women received pampering from head to toe.

Not only did the staff style hair, Craig told his aunt, but they did things

Cynthia had never heard of, like body wraps and seaweed treatments. At the

time it was the only salon of its kind, and had gained a steady and loyal

clientele. After a while Craig got tired of being the middle man, as his

mother and aunt’s silent feud dragged on several months. Trying to get the

two women together again, he decided to tell his mother that Cynthia called

him just about every afternoon. At first, Vi was upset. The nerve of

Cynthia, she thought, trying to ply her son for information. But even though

Cynthia had always been a bossy and stubborn woman, she was still her

sister so she needed to be the one to break the ice this time around.

Although, Cynthia wasn’t sure why Vi asked her to join her business and

do the books, she didn’t hesitate to jump at the offer. By mutual agreement,

the two sisters never talked about Cynthia’s initial lack of support, or just

how well Nu U was doing, in spite of her family’s initial criticism.

Just then, the bell over the front door chimed, bringing Cynthia back to the

present. Andre and Nicole walked in laughing and talking. Seeing Cynthia

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at the front desk pouring over the books, they greeted her in unison. These

two, Cynthia knew, were Vi’s best stylists. About Vi’s age, Nicole wore

dread locks and jeans to work every day. She was a hardworking, single

mother of two while Andre seemed to be searching for a new lover just about

every other month. Although a bit talkative, Cynthia thought Nicole was

nice enough. On the other hand, she and Andre seemed to butt heads on a

weekly basis. It wasn’t his flamboyant style or the alternative lifestyle he

led that annoyed Cynthia so much. It was his lack of discretion and the

obvious delight he took in making sure everyone knew he was gay. That got

on her nerves more times than none, like today. With obvious distaste,

Cynthia eyed Andre’s too-tight jeans, shiny pink shirt and the bright yellow

highlights in his afro.

While Cynthia Edwards was starting her normal workday, Clayton

Marshall left the station feeling anything but normal. Outside the sun

dazzled bright against pristine, white clouds. The beauty of the day was a

mockery. Putting on his sunglasses to ward off the blazing sun, he walked

across the parking lot to his car. Ignoring the sweltering heat inside his car,

Clay got in it, rolled down his driver side window and started the engine.

The heat inside the car didn’t register as he sat there with the car running,

completely forgetting exactly what came next.
Oh yeah, put the car in gear
,

he thought and in the next instant he was assailed again by the weight of his

grief. It was so overbearing that it choked him, suffocating him where the

heat inside the car had failed to penetrate his senses. He fought for control,

put the car in gear and drove down Route 110 toward the Long Island

Expressway.

Clay thought about what he was going to say when he reached her house.

Craig and his mom were really close—Clay had never heard anyone praise

their mother the way Craig praised his mom. Their relationship was a level

above just love between a mother and son. They not only loved each other,

they respected and admired each other. It always amazed him how Craig and

his mom could talk about anything – money, relationships, sports and

politics. If you didn’t know them, you might get the impression they were

like a modern day June and Beaver Cleaver. But, they weren’t. They had

their share of disagreements, but the nice thing was they never stayed angry

at each other for very long.

Whatever was going on, and there was plenty, she and Craig discussed it.

And later Clayton would hear all about it from Craig. He knew a lot about

Mrs. Simpson. Whenever he spoke about her, the admiration and love in

Craig’s voice made a hard knot of envy form in the pit of Clayton’s stomach.

She was an ideal mother—hardworking, capable and compassionate—and

21

over time Clay acquired a deep admiration and respect for her that he’d never

known for his own mother.

Out of nowhere, something he thought about earlier came back to him.

What the hell was Craig doing on Chestnut this morning?

Chestnut was clear across town. It was also the poorest section of town,

and as far as Clay knew, Craig had no friends over there. Craig told him this

morning he had to stop by his mother’s and then run some errands. There

were dozens of supermarkets and convenience stores to stop at on this side of

town, and Chestnut was no where near his mother’s house or on the way to

the beach.

A car horn blasted loudly, penetrating Clay’s thoughts. His mind

registered that he was sitting at a stop sign and apparently holding up traffic.

If the line of cars behind him was any indication, he must have been sitting

there for a while.

Silently reprimanding himself, Clayton forced his mind to focus on his

driving. He needed to get himself together before he reached Mrs.

Simpson’s house. This was going to be hard enough on her, without him

falling apart. Craig had told him once she was one of the strongest women

he knew. But, even the strongest people broke down, he thought.

Clay spent the entire drive to her house, lost in thought. As he neared her

street, he turned right onto Ronald Drive. It was a nice neighborhood with

tree-lined streets, and houses with matching shutters and trim that only added

to its quiet charm. It was one of those neighborhoods where everyone knew

each other. Her house was up ahead on the right. It was a large colonial

with bright green shutters and a white picket fence surrounding the front

yard. The front door was painted the same green and flanked on either side

by big terracotta pots filled with leafy plants and colorful impatiens. A huge

magnolia tree dominated the front lawn, its blossoms hung heavy and full on

outstretched limbs. The grass had just been cut and looked healthy and

green except for one yellowed spot near the curb. An oscillating sprinkler

sat near that yellowed patch, pushing water through in a sweeping, fan

motion. Its movement was quiet, monotonous and detached as it threw water

across Clayton’s passenger side window when he pulled into her driveway.

Clay put the car in park, took the keys out of the ignition, but made no

movement to get out. He sat in his hot car looking around at everything and

at nothing. Craig’s mom had a two car detached garage. Both garage doors

stood open because it was broad daylight, so the interior was visible to

anyone walking on the street. One side was vacant and in the next stall her

car was parked, a late model Japanese import, compact but reliable.

As the sprinkler continued its long sweep, it caught him on the arm and wet

his front passenger seat. He reached over and rolled the window up slowly

22

as he studied the sprinkler, not realizing why he even bothered. He sat back

and stared again into the garage. Inside various gardening tools and

equipment sat near an old gas grill. In the back was a workbench that looked

like it hadn’t been used in quite a while. Tools hung over the bench and two

bikes hung from the rafters above.

He leaned his head back against the headrest and pinched the bridge of his

nose as a new wave of sorrow assailed him. It cast an invisible, steel band

over him and tightened painfully around his chest. He felt tears sting the

back of his eyes and willed them away, refusing to cry again. God, how

many times had he done that today? Too many, he thought. Letting out a

long sigh, he sat up and tried to get it together, vaguely thinking that she

shouldn’t leave her garage door open like this. Anyone could walk right up

and help themselves. He remembered Craig used to warn his mother about

this. Every time he did, she would shrug and tell him “W
e’ve known every

person in this neighborhood for years and everybody does it. But, if someone

walking by decides to steal something, let them. That’ll be one less thing to

clean up or throw out come fall.”

Clay was a police officer and he fully agreed with Craig on this particular

subject, because he knew it was dangerous to leave unlocked doors, of any

kind, on your property. What if someone tried to hide in there until

nightfall? They might attack her when she tried to get in her car, or worse,

hide inside her car if she happened to leave the car door unlocked. With