The Davenports(42)

“Clara’s Beauty Salon,” she whispered. That’s what she would call it. All at once it felt so obvious. Amy-Rose stood taller. Forgotten was the encounter at the bank. She could already see her plans taking shape around the fa?ade. She’d tend to the empty planter boxes below the window. A fresh coat of white paint would set it apart from a wall of natural brick on either side. The location saw plenty of foot traffic she hoped would yield regular clients. People seeking her skills.

She pushed inside and found Mr. Spencer with a customer. They were at the grooming station near the back, just before the register. The other stations were covered in white dustcloths. It smelled like wood varnish, cigar smoke, and antiseptic. It was wonderful, and one day soon, would be all hers.

“Well, Clyde, look who’s come to visit.” Mr. Spencer spoke to the man in the chair, face obscured by a hot towel. “Now, don’t you go around looking like you already redecorating,” he said, draping a smock over Clyde’s shoulders. His words were softened by a grin.

She couldn’t help herself. The wood floors were polished to a pale shine, reflecting the light pouring in through the high, arched windows. Yes, updated wallpaper, new chairs, a lounge up front. The space would do just fine.

Clyde squinted one eye open as Mr. Spencer removed the towel. “Is that Miss Amy-Rose?”

“Sure is. She’s making plans.”

“Oh, you know I have plans,” she said.

Mr. Spencer laughed. His gaze followed hers. “I had a lot of great memories here,” he said. His eyes took on a faraway look. The lines etched into his features relaxed and only his salt-and-pepper hair gave any indication to his years. He hummed quietly as he worked on shaving Clyde’s patchy beard.

The two men exchanged news of their loved ones and news from around the block, which she knew was old man’s gossip. The scene before her was exactly what she wanted: a space to call her own, with customers close enough to be called friends. It would be like when she did Helen’s hair: gossip and unsolicited advice shared freely. And a home of some sort, one of her own making.

She bid the gentlemen good evening and began her walk back to Freeport. The sun hung low in the sky and painted everything gold. It also thoroughly baked the road and dried up the last of the rain that had fallen the day before. Heat radiated around Amy-Rose as she tried to ignore the bead of sweat inching down her back. She hefted higher onto her hip the parcels Jessie asked her to pick up, mumbling the grievances she didn’t dare tell the cook in person.

She was trying to shift the packages to her other side when she heard a honk behind her. Amy-Rose sidestepped as she turned. A shiny black automobile slowed as it approached. She knew that vehicle. She passed by it most days on her walks to and from the gardens behind the Davenports’ kitchen. She glanced at the people around. As they carried on, it became clear. John was slowing down for her.

“Need a ride home?” John asked. The dimple in his cheek made her heart squeeze. Their kiss in the garden replayed in her mind, not for the first time, raising her temperature even higher. But that was nearly a month ago. Just a silly slip, she’d decided. Both of their emotions had run high that night. He held the passenger door open for her now. The interior was all supple leather. She marveled at the craftmanship, the beauty.

“The weather certainly took a turn for the better, but you’re miles from home. Why didn’t you take a carriage?”

Amy-Rose remembered leaving through the kitchen door with Jessie yelling ingredients at her back. “I thought I’d just pick up a few things. I didn’t expect so many orders to be ready. And in such large quantities.”

John smiled, and Amy-Rose fell briefly enchanted by the way his lips moved. “Well, I suppose we’re lucky I happened to be driving past.”

We’re lucky.

Amy-Rose thought about those simple words as John pulled back onto the road. His thigh pressed against her knee. His shoulder slightly grazed hers. The breeze itself seemed to be pushing them together. It became easy to imagine this to be her life. Afternoon drives with John after a full day of shopping for their household. No—after they spent their respective days at work. She would not give up her salon so easily.

She sighed and shook the image of the two of them from her mind.

“Did you accomplish everything you set out to do?”

Amy-Rose weighed sharing news of her progress. Regardless of the stolen moment they’d shared, he had shown no more interest in her than before. Nor had she in him. She glanced at his eager look now, his eyes flicking from her to the mostly deserted road before them. The trees on either side of the street seemed to reach toward one another. The dappled light that filtered through the branches created a kaleidoscope of greens and yellows, and the air around them cooled to a more manageable temperature. He does know I dreamed of opening a salon, she reasoned.

“I saw a man at Binga’s today,” she said. “I’ve been saving up for a storefront—Mr. Spencer’s to be exact—for my salon. He’s given me a fair deal and I nearly have the deposit.” She hesitated, not sure why the next part gave her pause. “Once I do, I’ll be leaving Freeport to start on my own.”

Several emotions passed over John’s face, so quick Amy-Rose couldn’t read them. Her palms were slick and her stomach churned. Why? She wondered why she was letting his reaction have any effect on her at all. They had lived under the same roof for years. And until recently, she would have said he was nice, polite, but nothing that would warrant the mounting anxiety bubbling in her chest.