less than a second of Charley’s gaze locked on mine for me to know trouble brewed. Though, in their language, the women caught up on the latest family gossip, Charley felt certain they were mocking her. I was beside Charley’s chair before she could open her mouth. “Your hair is beautiful,” I said, running my fingers through the detangled strands, patting her arm with my other hand.
“Want color?” One of the women questioned from her seat at Charley’s footbath.
Charley’s brows furrowed as she leaned my way and in a weak voice said, “You never said anything about—”
I interrupted. “Cherry red or one of those French styles?”
With somewhat of a huff, Charley leaned back in her massage chair, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Eyes still closed, she said, “I’ve always wanted one of those French Manicures.”
Together, the attendants smiled, and one said, “French Manicure, very nice,” before standing and hustling away.
I squeezed Charley’s hand, debating the best way to inform her without causing panic that I needed to step outside. The attendants dried Charley’s feet and slipped on a pair of paper flip-flops. Charley watched with amazement as they set about prettying her toenails; I rubbed my watery eyes.
“That smell in here is something awful.” I couldn’t thank Papa enough that Charley had noticed my dilemma. “Why don’t you step outside and get some fresh air. I’m okay, Zag.”
While Charley finished with the pedicure, I stayed outside, playing up the chemical stench excuse. Hands in my pockets, I paced the sidewalk through the manicure and avoided speaking or bumping into anyone as Charley braved the eyebrow waxing.
When she finished playing musical chairs, she stood before a long mirror, admiring her fresh look. I made my way back into the salon, to her side, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Though I couldn’t wrap my head around the high maintenance you humans require, I said, “Don’t you look ravishing,” knowing those words Charley most wanted to hear.
She pursed her lips, licked over the soft color, and then batted her lengthened lashes my direction. “Ravishing, my ass. I’m drop dead gorgeous,” she teased, but an instant later, alarm marred her expression and she turned to where I’d originally taken a seat. Her focus landed on the white box, her painted bottom lip quivered.
“A gift is a gift, Charley. Go ahead.”
Wearing a smile, she retrieved the box and shoes and, for the first time in a long time, she walked with the excitement of youth, making her way into the restroom on the other side of the floor.
I had to smile when she emerged and posed in her new outfit, one hand on her cocked hip, the other behind her head. Her personality hadn’t faded and her wit remained sharp, even at seventy-three. With a sudden halt to the fun, she looked at me, seemingly lost.
In a flash, I was at her side. “Would you like a drink of water?”
She nodded, slowly, and though the mood was celebratory, I couldn’t fight the gnawing in my gut, as if my insides were being shred into tiny pieces. “Time to go, Charley.”
Bottled water in hand, we exited the salon, again, heading west. After a quarter mile or so, I stopped for Charley to rest. “How much further, Zag?”
She wouldn’t find her butterfly if I didn’t intervene. We had over five miles to reach the sanctuary her butterfly had claimed as home, and I was out of options. Please Papa, don’t be angry…. “Just around the next bend,” I assured Charley, lifting her into my arms.
Within seconds, we alit outside of town. I eased Charley to the ground, pried her clenched tight fingers from the collar of my suit. “It’s okay, Charley. See? Just like I told you. We’re here.” She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Before us stood a magnificent country estate, stables, woods to one side, and a beautiful marble fountain surrounded by an elegantly adorned circular drive. “She’s
“Want color?” One of the women questioned from her seat at Charley’s footbath.
Charley’s brows furrowed as she leaned my way and in a weak voice said, “You never said anything about—”
I interrupted. “Cherry red or one of those French styles?”
With somewhat of a huff, Charley leaned back in her massage chair, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Eyes still closed, she said, “I’ve always wanted one of those French Manicures.”
Together, the attendants smiled, and one said, “French Manicure, very nice,” before standing and hustling away.
I squeezed Charley’s hand, debating the best way to inform her without causing panic that I needed to step outside. The attendants dried Charley’s feet and slipped on a pair of paper flip-flops. Charley watched with amazement as they set about prettying her toenails; I rubbed my watery eyes.
“That smell in here is something awful.” I couldn’t thank Papa enough that Charley had noticed my dilemma. “Why don’t you step outside and get some fresh air. I’m okay, Zag.”
While Charley finished with the pedicure, I stayed outside, playing up the chemical stench excuse. Hands in my pockets, I paced the sidewalk through the manicure and avoided speaking or bumping into anyone as Charley braved the eyebrow waxing.
When she finished playing musical chairs, she stood before a long mirror, admiring her fresh look. I made my way back into the salon, to her side, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Though I couldn’t wrap my head around the high maintenance you humans require, I said, “Don’t you look ravishing,” knowing those words Charley most wanted to hear.
She pursed her lips, licked over the soft color, and then batted her lengthened lashes my direction. “Ravishing, my ass. I’m drop dead gorgeous,” she teased, but an instant later, alarm marred her expression and she turned to where I’d originally taken a seat. Her focus landed on the white box, her painted bottom lip quivered.
“A gift is a gift, Charley. Go ahead.”
Wearing a smile, she retrieved the box and shoes and, for the first time in a long time, she walked with the excitement of youth, making her way into the restroom on the other side of the floor.
I had to smile when she emerged and posed in her new outfit, one hand on her cocked hip, the other behind her head. Her personality hadn’t faded and her wit remained sharp, even at seventy-three. With a sudden halt to the fun, she looked at me, seemingly lost.
In a flash, I was at her side. “Would you like a drink of water?”
She nodded, slowly, and though the mood was celebratory, I couldn’t fight the gnawing in my gut, as if my insides were being shred into tiny pieces. “Time to go, Charley.”
Bottled water in hand, we exited the salon, again, heading west. After a quarter mile or so, I stopped for Charley to rest. “How much further, Zag?”
She wouldn’t find her butterfly if I didn’t intervene. We had over five miles to reach the sanctuary her butterfly had claimed as home, and I was out of options. Please Papa, don’t be angry…. “Just around the next bend,” I assured Charley, lifting her into my arms.
Within seconds, we alit outside of town. I eased Charley to the ground, pried her clenched tight fingers from the collar of my suit. “It’s okay, Charley. See? Just like I told you. We’re here.” She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Before us stood a magnificent country estate, stables, woods to one side, and a beautiful marble fountain surrounded by an elegantly adorned circular drive. “She’s
Similar Books
