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 class. 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 Rochelle 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 butter 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 Rochelle 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 Rochelle’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 title 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 God-given beauty instead of cutting and peeling themselves into an early grave. It’d work out somehow.
Renee stood back as I passed 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 shipment 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 God 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 title 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 relationship 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 Rochelle 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 Saturday and peeled out like a wimp.
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