She knew then she’d never be beautiful.
“You can have a social life if you want,” RJ said, helping her with the last station.
“Who said I wanted one?” Ginger headed for the storeroom. “Let’s get painting.”
Five minutes later, their rollers thick with paint, Ginger and Ruby-Jane covered the wall with fresh color, their beloved country tunes filling the air pockets with twang.
“You ready?” RJ said. “For this weekend? One bride, seven bridesmaids, two mothers, three grandmothers—”
“Yep. Just a walk in the park, Kazansky.”
“I still can’t believe she didn’t invite me. We were good friends until high school.”
“Maybe because you dated Eric for awhile after they broke up.”
“Well, there’s that.” Sigh. After graduation, when Bridgett and Eric went their separate ways, Ruby-Jane was more than eager to be the new future Mrs. Eric James.
“As for dropping you in high school, I don’t know, but her loss was my gain.” There were no truer words in this moment. With an exhale, Ginger relaxed into the repeating motion of rolling on paint.
The shop was warm and merry with the occasional ting of crystalline flakes pinging against the glass.
“Well, that’s true, but I like to think we’d have become friends anyway.”
Ginger glanced over at her tall, lithe friend. “You can come to the wedding as my assistant.”
“And flaunt my shame in front of everyone as the help of the help? No thanks.”
Ginger laughed. “Good point. You can get Victor Reynolds to take you to a romantic dinner instead.”
“Ha! Haven’t heard from him in weeks.”
Ginger lowered her paint roller. “Really? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . I’m twenty-nine, divorced, living in my hometown with my parents, in my old bedroom, and when all is said and done, I can’t keep the interest of Victor Reynolds.” Ruby-Jane’s expression soured. “Victor Reynolds . . . who couldn’t get a date to save his life in high school.”
“You and me . . .” Ginger rolled paint against the wall. “The single sisters in solidarity.”
“Ugh, so depressing. At least you have a life calling. A skill.” Ruby-Jane loaded her roller with paint. “You can take an ordinary woman and make her extraordinarily beautiful.”
“I love what I do.” Ginger glanced around the shop. “And I want to make this the best place in the county for hair, makeup, and all things beautiful. Next year, I hope to have an esthetician on staff.”
She stepped back to admire the beige-pink covering the dull yellow wall. Beautiful. She loved it.
Making things—women—beautiful was her calling, her duty in life. She channeled every ounce of her heart and soul into her work because the truth was, she could never do it for herself.
And this weekend Ginger would play her role as a behind-the-scenes stylist, or as Tracie Blue called her, “the beauty-maker,” for the Alabama society wedding of the year, if not the decade.
Socialite Bridgett Maynard was marrying the governor’s son, Eric James. A pair of Rosebud High sweethearts, the beautiful people, united under their umbrellas of success and wealth.
While Ginger was looking forward to working with Bridgett, she did not look forward to the weekend. She’d have to live among them at the old plantation.
“Well, if anyone can make this place a success, it’s you, Ginger. Last time I saw Mrs. Henderson, she was still smiling over how you styled her hair.”
“Grandpa was the first to tell me I could see the beauty in everyone else.” She saw it that day Mrs. Henderson sat in her chair, with her wilting, over-dyed, over-permed hair. “I believed him. He’d buy me a new baby doll every month because I’d cut the hair off the old one. Right down to their plastic scalps.” Ginger’s heart laughed. “Mama would get mad. ‘Daddy, stop wasting your money. She’s just going to destroy this one.’ And he’d say, ‘She’s becoming who she’s meant to be.’ ” Ginger added paint to her roller and started a slow roll along the wall, the blue sparkle of her grandpa’s eyes making her warm and sentimental.
She missed Gramps, a stable force in her trailer park life, always making her feel safe. Especially when Daddy left. And again after the fire.
Then came Tom Wells. Ginger shook his name free from her thoughts. He didn’t deserve any part of her memories. Handsome high school boy who disappeared on her and broke her heart.
She’d pushed him out of her mind until she moved back to Rosebud. Until Bridgett walked into the shop three months ago, begging Ginger to be her wedding stylist, and the boxed memories of her youth in Rosebud, of her high school days, busted out.
“Can I ask you something?” Ruby-Jane said, pressing the last bit of paint in her brush against the wall. “Why did you leave Tracie Blue? Really. Not because Maggie called you about this place.”
“It was time.”
“Did something happen? It wasn’t because of your scars—”