Part 6 (1/2)

My stupid brother was the least of my worries. Visa was going to come and repossess my teeth if I didn't figure a way out of this one. And just when I was considering that saving-up-for-a-rainy-day thing. ”She fired me, Roch.e.l.le. What am I going to do now?”

”Fired you? Naomi?” A cheerleader's voice replaced her melancholy tone. ”Get over here as fast as you can!”

I stared at the receiver. My friend had sprung to life at the news of my financial demise. Was I missing something here?

”Come over there? Now? No, I'm going home. I've got a date with some ice cream.”

”No, little sis. You come by here. I've got something better than ice cream.”

Better than ice cream? Now we were talking. ”Whaddya got? Baklava? I knew you weren't serious about starting our food program today. Baklava is in the points book, but-”

”No, Dane, no baklava. What I'm going to feed you will keep you full for a long time. We're going to cook up some dreams.”

The dream was almost done. A little raw in the center, overdone around the edges, but the details for my closet-hobby-turned-business were falling into place. The past few weeks had been a flurry of paperwork and planning-two things I'm not too good with. First, burning the midnight oil with a business plan had kept me busy. Then came the fun stuff-market research, product line development, price points and displays-all the stuff I'd dreamed about.

Only the reality turned out to be more like a nightmare. The insurance? Forget it. I came home from that meeting sweating like I'd been to spinning cla.s.s. For extra fun, add in ordering bacteria challenge tests for my products, designing labels, obtaining UPC codes. All sorts of madness. But somehow, I felt more alive than ever. I'd thought Roch.e.l.le was nuts to push me into this, but I had to admit being excited. More excited than I'd been about anything in a long time, except maybe when Adrian showed up again. But now he'd disappeared just as quickly.

Mind your business. I've got him.

And you.

I smiled, easing my hand over the almost unrecognizable scar under my eye. My cocoa b.u.t.ter soap and lotion had done wonders. Renee, who'd volunteered to help me unload boxes, peeked around the corner of my Thanksgiving display, a burst of orange, gold, copper and green draped the shelves in layers. A cornucopia full of pumpkin pie bath bombs would soon grace the top for effect.

An emerald nail cradled Renee's cheek. ”I know this wasn't easy, but I'm so glad it worked out. This is so...you. I can't believe Roch.e.l.le gave you the rest of the money though. I knew she did well over there with those shoes, but this well?” She swept a hand around the upscale retail unit.

I snapped on my latex gloves and a pair of goggles before heaving a tub of sodium hydroxide, a necessary and lethal ingredient in all soap, toward the back. Why was it Renee always voiced my thoughts?

”I don't know the details, Renee. I didn't ask. I'm thinking she took out a loan. She said it's a gift, but I'm going to pay her back. Somehow.”

The empty shelves stared back at me mockingly as I tried to imagine them full of jars and bottles sporting the funky fuchsia and tangerine labels Tracey had designed.

”Don't worry. You'll do it. Wonderfully Made is going to be a hit.”

”I hope so.” Besides Roch.e.l.le's gift, I'd secured a small loan for women-owned businesses and cashed in my pitiful retirement fund. The cheery flowers on my foaming bath oil caught my attention, the product's t.i.tle hugged the curve of the bright petals in a swirling script on the label.

Hope floats.

I sighed. Hoping. Helping. That's what this was about, helping women relax and rediscover their G.o.d-given beauty instead of cutting and peeling themselves into an early grave. It'd work out somehow.

Renee stood back as I pa.s.sed by, as if the lye could escape the container and harm her somehow. Her posture humored me, but I was glad she took the safety concerns seriously. I'd been reluctant to let her come today, knowing the lye s.h.i.+pment needed to be stored properly. ”I'll be back in a sec.”

Tired of dragging the fifty-pound-double-garbage-bagged lump across the floor, I pushed it with my boot, hoping no stray lye crystals would jump onto my shoe somehow. Toe burns were no fun. Smelling a velvety bar of lavender oatmeal, six weeks old and smooth to the cut, made tasks like this bearable. Though I'd made hundreds of batches, there was still nothing quite like bathing with soap I'd made. It seemed the longer it cured the better it felt.

Getting to the point where I had supplies to shove around hadn't been easy. To pull it off, my life had become an express business seminar. My days had been laced with acronyms from dawn to dusk-IRS, SBA and SCORE-all which basically illuminated the fact that I was BROKE. But G.o.d did it anyway.

In spite of the odds, Wonderfully Made, my soon-to-be-opened bath and body shop, was a reality. I scanned the back room of this freshly painted strip mall unit. With boxes everywhere, the place didn't look much different than my dining room at first sight, but the stucco lining the walls and the chandelier in the main area hinted at the possibilities.

I hoped this place would live up to its name. Adrian had certainly lived up to the t.i.tle of his business, heart kicker in the first degree.

Easy come, easy go.

He'd no doubt returned to Chicago by now. Though it hurt that he hadn't said goodbye, I was thankful. With him around, my mind had played tricks on me. Dangerous tricks.

I looked down at my bare wedding finger. Maybe I needed to take my relations.h.i.+p with Jesus as seriously as Adrian had taken being with Sandy. And Jesus was still alive...

That's deep.

Lugging the bag of chemicals into the hazardous materials cabinet, I strained to remember a thought that could be food for the devotionals I owed the Sistahood. Especially Tracey, whose new husband had not only declined to apologize for his physical and emotional absence on their honeymoon, but scheduled a series of out-of-town trips in the weeks following. And she was not invited to tag along.

A chime rang at the front as I emerged from the storage area. It'd taken Roch.e.l.le long enough to get the food. The deli was only a block away. She'd rejoined Weight Watchers with me enough times to know how cranky I could be on Week One, even if we were trying to do it on our own this time. I'd seen the I-can't-believe-your-fat-self-is-here-again receptionist's car on Sat.u.r.day and peeled out like a wimp.

I pushed back my gloves and grabbed the drawstring handles of another bag of lye. I'd have to wash down the floor with vinegar before leaving tonight. Next time, I'd have the guy deliver to the back. I gathered my determination as the weight taxed my strength. At least I'd have some food now, I thought, heaving with all my might. ”What'd you get? Not plain turkey, I hope. Some honey mustard at least-”

”I didn't bring any food, but I could go get some if you'd like.”

Adrian's voice stopped me cold. Only my safety phobia allowed for how that lye bucket made it back to the floor without spilling. I looked down at my sweats.h.i.+rt and holey jeans in horror. Renee's laughter whispered from behind the display behind me. What was he doing here? here?

He stepped around a stack of boxes. ”Hey.”

I stumbled over my former burden, suddenly unconcerned with the danger of its contents. He looked like a dream. A beige turtleneck sweater smoothed against his chocolate throat. His jeans fit, but were slack enough for comfort. A gold stud he'd abandoned when he got saved ten years before sparkled in his left lobe. Tapered loafers and a hip-length leather jacket the same color as his skin finished off the ensemble. He held a small Kick! bag in his hand.

”You look like dinner.” Renee snickered.

No, she didn't say that. Bad enough that I was thinking it. When Adrian left, I was going to get Renee good. I cut her a scathing look. She raised an eyebrow, knowing that she'd voiced my true thoughts as usual.

Adrian doubled over with laughter, shaking his head as he straightened. ”And you two look like businesswomen. Congratulations.” He slipped out of his jacket. His muscular shoulders strained against the knit s.h.i.+rt as he sat the bag on the floor. As his graceful fingers intertwined around the garbage bag handles, his wedding ring was notably absent.

”No busineswoman here. I'm just helping out, though I've always been part of the vision.” Renee walked to the front of the store and started cleaning the windows. I'd have to give her double vision if she didn't hush.

He picked up an hourgla.s.s-shaped vial of shower gel-Peachy Kleen. ”Nice logo and trade dress. Tracey?”

I nodded. Most people wouldn't recognize Tracey's signature curls and swirls, but as her friends, we recognized her work easily. ”Yes, she did an excellent job.”

Adrian nodded, lowering his voice. ”When were you going to tell me?”

I stared into the empty display case, then took a seat on the floor, Indian style. ”I don't know. I didn't know where you were. I figured you'd gone back to Chicago.”

He didn't look convinced. ”I have a cell phone. E-mail. Not that I'm one to give advice on communication.”

”True.” I leaned over and opened a box of body b.u.t.ter and started loading it on a low shelf. As hard as it'd been to get these products made and labeled, making the display looked like it would be just as difficult. Especially with Adrian around. He pushed up his sleeves and squatted down beside me. Right beside me.

”I went to do management training for the Chicago warehouse and manufacturing plant, but now I'm here.” His lips brushed my forehead. ”Where I belong.”

I adjusted the bandanna on my head, using all my willpower to keep from wrestling him to the ground. Why did he say such things? I dragged another box toward me.