Seven
Shay Décor.
It was Thursday afternoon, and the name had played and repeated itself in Shaylynn’s head continuously since Neil suggested it two days ago. During the lunch break given to the children prior to boarding the bus and heading back to school, Neil stood near her chatting on the phone to someone, when all of a sudden, he pulled the phone from his ear and brushed her arm with his fingers.
“Shay Décor.” He blurted the words as though a genuine light bulb had all of a sudden been turned on in his head.
Shaylynn didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “What?”
“Shay Décor,” Neil repeated. “That’s it. That’s the name of your business. Shay Décor.”
From the satisfied smile that seemed to cover the entire surface of his face, Shaylynn could tell that he was proud of his own epiphany. Neil actually looked as if he wanted to present himself with some sort of outstanding achievement award for the idea he’d produced in the middle of his telephone meeting. Shaylynn had looked at him, but said nothing more, and he’d gone right back to his cell phone conversation, barely skipping a beat. It took Shaylynn a moment to compute what he had said, but when she did, she liked it.
“It has a sophisticated flair to it,” Neil pointed out, still marketing the idea to her on the bus ride back to the campus. “It’s so chic and refined and so . . . well, you.”
Shaylynn liked that too. She didn’t know why, but hearing Dr. Neil Taylor refer to her in such a praising manner made her feel good. With a background as disgraceful as hers, she’d been called a lot of things, but never refined or sophisticated. Emmett’s family would certainly scoff at that one.
“If he knew my history, he wouldn’t have said it either,” she spoke aloud while admiring the second ad that she had placed in the newspaper concerning her new business. The Atlanta Journal Constitution was the most popular daily newspaper in Atlanta, and she’d placed an ad in it last week. This time, she took the advice of a television commercial and placed one in the Atlanta Weekly Chronicles. It was just as popular as the AJC, if not more; however, it was produced on a weekly basis only. The ad from last Sunday’s edition stared Shaylynn in the face. It was larger and more prominently placed than her previous ad, and in the past two days, she’d received quite a number of calls. No promised jobs yet, but the calls proved that her investment had stirred some interest in the community.
Shaylynn guessed that the calls were coming as a result of the ad plus her additional personal endeavors to spread the word of her business. Tuesday, after finishing her assignment as chaperone for her son’s field trip, she found an express package sitting on her front porch. It contained flyers that she’d ordered online through a company called Papered Wonders that she’d found one day while web browsing. Shaylynn was tired from her aquarium adventure, but she loaded the box of postcard-sized flyers in her car and went to work. She placed them on the windshields of hundreds of cars that were parked in the lots at area malls. She even invaded the lots of Home Depot, Michaels, Rooms To Go, IKEA, Wal-Mart . . . anywhere where people shopped for home improvement supplies and furniture. Shaylynn had spent most of the afternoon passing out business cards and postcards and most of the night massaging her aching feet.
It wasn’t until today, when she took the time to read the Atlanta Weekly Chronicles newspaper in its entirety that she realized that the owner of the paper was the son-in-law of Reverend B. T. Tides. She’d been introduced to the name of the famed bishop while living in Florida, but had no idea that he had family ties to the weekly paper. And in the same newspaper, she saw a conspicuous advertisement by a company called Papered Wonders. Like her own business, Papered Wonders was a sole proprietorship, and it was owned by a single mother who was also a Christian woman. Now, Shaylynn couldn’t brush off the feeling that the positive results she was getting from the news ad and the flyers weren’t just because she’d knowingly chosen to do business with people who served the city honorably, but because she’d unknowingly chosen to do business with people who served God honorably.
Shay Décor.
There it was again, echoing in her head. It was indeed an engaging name that, admittedly, Shaylynn found more appealing than Ford’s Home Interior & Designs; but there was one problem. One big problem. The name Ford wasn’t in it. For her, it was important that her last name was a part of her company’s title. Somehow, having her married name represented kept Emmett’s spirit alive and made him a permanent fixture in the business that he had encouraged her to start.
As soon as she thought of her deceased husband, Shaylynn’s vision began to blur. Even after all this time, it was hard to believe he was gone forever. It was even harder to believe that his death still distressed her so. Dabbing the corners of her eyes with her fingertips, Shaylynn erased the visible signs of her lingering grief. When Chase was at home, he kept her busy, and she didn’t think as much about the permanent vacancy that Emmett’s passing had left in her heart. But when the house was quiet, even when she tried to occupy herself with other things, somehow her pain would resurface as though the horrific ordeal had happened just yesterday.
Standing from her living room sofa, Shaylynn walked to the fireplace mantel and admired the last photo that she and Emmett had taken not more than a month before his murder. Admirably, she smoothed her thumb across his image, wishing she could touch him once more; wishing he could touch her in return.
“I miss you, baby,” she whispered, forcing back the flood that wanted to rise behind her eyeballs. “I wish you were here to see how beautiful your son is and how much he’s grown. He looks just like you, and I pray to God that he grows up to be just like you too.” Shaylynn thought about the massive shoes that Chase would have to fill in order to satisfy that wish, and she decided to compromise. “Even if he’s half the man you were, I’d be proud.”
Her eyes darted to the bundle of violets that she’d preserved by leaving them pressed between the pages of her telephone book for a month following Emmett’s funeral. The blue flowers had been her favorite ever since Emmett picked a bundle from an open field and handed them to her as he proposed in a surprising move during a casual Saturday afternoon walk. When Shaylynn closed her eyes, she could still see the look on Emmett’s face as he held her trembling hand.
“Baby, I don’t care what anybody says,” he’d told her. “Not my parents, my friends . . . nobody. It doesn’t matter that we come from different worlds. Shoot, if you can stomach my present, which comes with my domineering mama and my superficial daddy, then I can sure deal with your past. What happened to you back then was out of my control, but I can promise you this: you’ll never have to worry about trivial things like food, clothing, and shelter ever again. I’m on my way to big things, baby, and you’re coming with me.”
It was at that moment that Emmett slid a small black box from the right pocket of his slacks and opened it for Shaylynn to see. She remembered momentarily being almost blinded by the sparkle that generated when the overhead sun clashed head-on with the one and a half-carat gemstone that sat atop the white gold ring.
“Emmett.” It was all that she could say, and even that was barely a whisper. He didn’t even ask her if she would marry him. He must have already known the answer, because without hesitation or a second thought, he removed the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. It was a perfect fit.
“I’m going to love you forever, Shaylynn McKinley. Nothing’s ever gonna change that. You hear me? ’Til the day I take my last breath, I will love you.”
And he did.
Opening her eyes, Shaylynn found herself again staring at the violets on the mantel. They appeared distorted through her glossed eyes, and she wiped away the pool of moisture to get a better view. The ringing of the telephone startled her, and Shaylynn took a moment to gather herself. Although she used the same telephone for personal and professional dealings, the numbers were different, and she’d had it arranged so that the business line’s ring was unlike the home number’s ring. This incoming call was business, and she knew she had to get it together fast before it rolled into voice mail.
“Shay Décor.”
Shay Décor? Why did I say that? The words had already come out, and taking it back would make her not only sound unprofessional, but like a babbling idiot who didn’t even know the name of her own business.
There was a pause on the other end of the line wherein all that could be heard was heavy breathing. Shaylynn was just about to hang up the phone on someone she figured was some kind of pervert when a woman’s voice spoke in her ear.
“Shay Décor?”
Breath.
“I, uh . . . I thought I was calling Ford’s Home Interior and Designs.”
Breath.
“I think I may have dialed the wrong number.”
Breath.
Shaylynn shook away the thought that the poor woman on the other end of the line must be morbidly obese, knowing she had more important concerns. She was about to lose a client if she didn’t think fast. For the sake of saving face, Shaylynn had to play it off, even if only this once. “No, ma’am, you have the right number. The business is going through a renovation that will come with a possible name change and currently, I’m using the possible new name.”
“Possible new name?”
The breathing sounds weren’t quite as labored now, but the woman’s tone made Shaylynn feel like a babbling idiot in spite of her efforts. If she tried to explain further, it wouldn’t sound any less stupid, so she chose to maneuver the conversation along. “Yes, ma’am. Is there something that I can help you with?”
“Maybe,” she said, and then paused. “My name is Eloise Flowers, and I’ve been trying to do some stuff to my house a little at a time, but I’m giving up now. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just too old for all this work. I need help. Is that what you do, Ms. . . . ?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Shaylynn assaulted herself inwardly. One would think that this was the first time she’d been in business. She knew better than to answer the phone without introducing herself. This was strike two. One more and she’d be out for sure. “I’m sorry. My name is Shaylynn Ford, Mrs. Shaylynn Ford, and I am the owner of F . . . Shay Décor.” She hoped her near blunder just sounded as if she were holding the “F” sound at the end of the word before it.
“I saw your ad in the paper,” the woman revealed. “I was wondering if this was the kind of work you did.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
“How much is something like this here gon’ put me out of?”
Shaylynn almost laughed. Southern people—especially older people—amused her. She hoped to appeal to a more corporate, prosperous crowd, but she had prayed for God to send business her way, and if there was one thing that her grandmother had grilled in her head, it was that beggars couldn’t be choosers, and this woman sounded like she was closer to being ready to get to work than most of Shaylynn’s prior callers had seemed. So for now, an aging, uneducated woman would have to do. “I’d like the opportunity to meet with you personally so that I can get a better idea of what it is that you desire for me to do,” Shaylynn said. “I’m sure that we can find something that fits into your budget.”
“Oh, you ain’t got to fit it in my budget, honey. You got to fit it in my young-un’s budget. That chile been trying to get me to get this house updated for years. Folks say I’m still living in the early nineties, teetering on the edge of falling back into the late eighties.”
Eloise laughed, and Shaylynn laughed with her. When she began talking again, Shaylynn noticed that the weighty breathing was all gone.
“Like I said, I saw your ad in the paper, and I thought I’d give you a call. So when can you meet with me, and how long is it gon’ take? I ain’t got all day, you know.”
Shaylynn smiled into the receiver. “I’m very flexible. I don’t mind working around your schedule, Ms. Flowers, and the meeting will only take as long as you need.”
“How ’bout this evening ’round about seven?”
Shaylynn froze. “This evening?” She hadn’t planned to meet outside of her normal office hours. That was her time with Chase.
“You did say you would work on my schedule, didn’t you?”
Eloise reminded her.
“Uh, yes, ma’am, but I have a son who—”
“Well, bring him on with you, honey. It ain’t gon’ take long, and I don’t bite. If you come hungry, I’ll even feed you.”
This was the first call Shaylynn had gotten far enough with a potential client to set up an actual appointment. She had no choice but to make the sacrifice . . . this time. “Okay, Ms. Flowers. If you give me your address, I’ll meet you at seven.”