One Wish (Thunder Point #7)(63)

“I don’t want you to do this,” Ginger said. “I’m not your problem. I just want to be left alone.”

“I know, baby,” she said softly. “I know you just want to sink in a hole and die. Want to know how I know? Because I’ve sort of been where you are. Not as bad, but still... I don’t usually talk about this, but when I was real young, way younger than you, I had a baby that didn’t live. She was stillborn, so I didn’t get to know her, didn’t get used to her. Because I was so young my folks sent me to Portland to stay with your daddy and his family until she was born. I wasn’t married, still in high school, no reason everyone had to know, right? Way back then, we worried a lot more about reputations. And I wasn’t real sure who the daddy was, so... Well, there’ve been times in my life when I made some hasty choices.”

Ginger just stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open.

“I held her for a long time before I let her go and the nurses didn’t rush me. I wasn’t even going to keep her—I figured she could do a lot better than me! I didn’t have much going for myself back in the day. Oh, that was so long ago. But for the longest time after that I just wanted to die, myself. Then my mom and dad both died a few years later and I was so alone. And then I really did want to sink in a hole and die. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do. So you know what I do when there’s a tragedy? When my life is falling apart? I try really hard to do the best I can. I wake up in the morning, put my feet on the floor, walk. I put on clean clothes every day. I fix myself to look like I’m getting through life even if everything inside me says I won’t make it another day. I mostly pretend, have a good hour here and there, then I collapse and cry because I just can’t do it, then I put my feet on the floor again and take another step.”

Ginger didn’t say anything, but a tear ran down her cheek.

“When you came along, I kind of felt like an auntie. You were a gift to me. We had so much fun playing, dressing up, watching movies, going on little trips together, having sleepovers. We can do this.”

Ginger shook her head, another tear sliding down her cheek.

“Now, you don’t have to tell me what I already know—getting a haircut and a pair of jeans that actually fit—that won’t help much. It’s just a shallow remedy. My friend Lou says I invented shallow.” Ray Anne smiled. “I think she’s secretly jealous I can still walk in those spike heels.”

“Ray...”

Ray Anne held up a hand. “I know, I get a little melodramatic. A little pushy, too. I can’t fix what you feel, Gingersnap. I know I can’t. But I can get you a good haircut, put you in a decent pair of jeans and get you some underwear that’s not shameful just in case you ever have to be taken to an emergency room. And don’t you worry about the money because if I can look at my pretty Ginger again, it’s worth my life savings. And if it makes you feel one inch better, it’s the right thing to do. Now eat something for breakfast—you’re wasting away. I’ll be ready to go in forty-five minutes. And it’s going to be a busy day.”

* * *

If Ginger went along with this refresher idea, she thought it was merely because Ray Anne, who she had loved so much since she was just a little girl, had revealed herself and her own losses. Ginger couldn’t imagine being a pregnant teenager and giving birth to a dead baby. Of course, she also couldn’t imagine giving one away—that notion was impossible to comprehend. But then she was thirty now, and had waited so long to get married and have her baby. And the right husband had clearly been a delusion.

So, to make an effort and to be kind, Ginger went with Ray Anne. Their first stop was the beauty salon. While Ray Anne had a manicure, Ginger sat in the beautician’s chair. The woman, Char, took the rubber tie out of her hair and combed it out. “So, what are we doing today?” she asked.

Ginger stared at herself. Her hair, which had always been one of her assets, looked like it had gotten thin. It was straight, lank, the color of dirty water, and lying against her too-thin face. She thought she resembled an Afghan hound. “I don’t care,” she said.

“I care,” Ray Anne said, jumping up from the manicurist’s table. “She needs some highlights, a couple of shades. Maybe throw in some lowlights. Bring out the bright in that strawberry blonde. And for the love of God, let’s get some kind of shape in there! Layer it. And when you’re ready to blow it out, don’t save money on the mousse. Women in our family need a little body in our locks.”

Char met eyes with Ginger in the mirror. She raised one brow. “That okay with you?”

“Sure,” she said, listless.

Ginger couldn’t deny that it felt good to have someone’s hands in her hair, massaging her scalp. It had probably been a year since she’d had a color and cut. But she paid no attention whatsoever; she was doing this for Ray Anne. If it made Ray feel that she was doing something to help, fine.

But an hour and a half later her mouth dropped open at the sight of her own reflection. Her hair was shaped along her jawline, a little shorter in the back, and it looked full and thick. The highlights made her look sun kissed and healthy. It was an easy style to maintain—a circular brush, a blow-dryer and some styling mousse. Not that she’d bother.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ray Anne said, satisfied. “Now, wax her brows back into shape.”