Page 21 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

At the sound of her husband’s heavy treads outside the bedroom door, she’d turn off the bedside light and roll over. Then, keeping her breathing even to further convince Rob she was out, she waited for him to complete his nighttime routine in the bathroom, slowly counting in her head. Since he wasn’t very meticulous about personal hygiene, she rarely counted to two hundred before he rolled into bed, and later she’d discover in his haste he’d left the toilet seat up, which really peeved her.

Rob didn’t normally use the master bath since it was an unspoken rule that it was more her domain. But having a guest in the house made him abandon his regular use of the hall bath. Just one more irksome detail of this severe form of holiday internment. That’s what it felt like—like being a prisoner in her own home with insufferable guards intent on driving her over the edge. And the edge was close!

She wasn’t sure if Rob or Lulu were aware of how she’d get up late at night after the house was quiet and she felt confident they were asleep. She’d sneak out of bed and into the kitchen for a deep-cleaning session. Sure, the midnight chore made her more tired and cranky the next day, but it also brought her a semblance of peace. Or at least that’s what she told herself. To be honest, peace felt as remote as Mars right now.

On the fourth morning of Lulu’s never-ending visit, Jane called her hairdresser for a pre-Christmas appointment and the potential for escape. She knew she should’ve done this days ago, but life had been too upside down for her to think rationally, and when Phoebe at the hair salon said she was booked until after Christmas, Jane felt her spirits tumble even lower. Quite honestly, she didn’t enjoy having her hair done in a salon—it always made her uncomfortable as it was too public, with too many onlookers. For that reason, Phoebe had talked her into buying the bluing solution she used to keep Jane’s hair sparkling platinum instead of the rather tarnished brassy shade it looked today. Jane had only used this magical blue solution a couple of times to touch up her hair between appointments, but the process was fairly simple and the results well worth the effort. And right now, her hair color was detestable.

So when Rob offered to take her mother Christmas shopping in the afternoon, Jane felt almost ecstatic. Okay, that was a stretch. But the thought of having her whole house entirely to herself was surprisingly gratifying. And it provided the perfect time of privacy to get her hair into better shape for the holidays. Perhaps she’d even give herself a clay mask facial. This would be her “be kind to Jane” afternoon.

She’d been surprised Rob was willing to leave his office for the whole afternoon just to take Lulu on a Christmas shopping adventure, which Jane could only imagine but didn’t want to, so good riddance to both of them! Humming to herself, Jane set to work in her master bath. First, she locked the door—just in case—then she went ahead and applied her favorite mask to her face. She usually gave it about fifteen minutes before showering. While the mask did its work, she carefully covered her marble countertop with kraft paper to prevent any blue stains. She lined up the necessary ingredients: a bottle of cobalt blue dye, gloves, the comb she kept especially for the blue dye, a plastic shower cap to cover her hair for the five minutes it took for the dye to soak in, and a timer. Next, she got her shower set up with plenty of navy towels laid out here and there to use for wiping up just in case the dye splashed while rinsing. She wished she’d brought her phone in here to put on her favorite classical music, but maybe silence was better.

She stripped down to be ready for her shower, put on her black shortie robe she had for this very purpose and some protective gloves, and then began to apply the dye, carefully combing it through her hair. The first time Phoebe had recommended the bluing solution, Jane had been skeptical. She remembered Mrs. Barnes, her first-grade teacher. The elderly woman had curly white hair that went from shades of blue to lavender to pink every couple of weeks. Jane certainly hadn’t wanted to look like that. But Phoebe had said it would brighten her hair and subdue any yellowing of the gray, turning it more platinum. And Jane had loved how her hair was sparkly and shiny after she was done. She’d only done it herself a few times, but the results were always surprisingly pleasant.

After the dark blue dye was liberally applied and combed through, Jane set the timer for five minutes. She knew the solution could stay on as long as ten minutes, but she stuck with five, preferring to err on the side of caution. And then she sat down on the toilet seat and picked up the December issue of House Beautiful. Maybe it would inspire her to finish decorating her house for Christmas.

But she’d barely opened the glossy magazine when she noticed a large black spider crawling up the wall right next to her. Jumping up, she grabbed a clump of toilet tissue and attempted to nail the invader before it got high enough to make messy cobwebs on the ceiling. But the critter was fast and quickly climbed out of reach, so she stepped onto the lid of the toilet seat in an attempt to nab it, and she suddenly felt the seat giving way beneath.

The next thing she knew, she had her left leg in the toilet, and with her legs splayed like an acrobat, her right hip was in unimaginable pain. The pain was so intense, she didn’t actually remember how she got her leg out of the toilet and herself onto the floor, but she knew that getting off the floor, thanks to whatever had happened to her hip, was excruciatingly impossible. The timer went off, and she curled on the hard tile floor in an almost fetal position, in severe pain and sobbing “My hair! My hair!” over and over again.

twelve

The thick, heavy clouds hovering over the mountain pass looked foreboding, but Olivia wasn’t concerned. She’d grown up on the snowy side of the Cascades and was used to driving in this climate, and fortunately she’d already had her winter tires put on. In fact, she was hoping for snow this Christmas. So it wasn’t weather worries that were gnawing at her right now. She turned off the Christmas music she’d put on to cheer her up during the drive home and allowed herself to sort out her thoughts.

First and foremost, she told herself, she should be concerned for her mother. According to Dad, she’d taken a bad fall and now had a fractured hip. He hadn’t gone into the details of how it happened, and hadn’t asked her to come earlier than planned, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

“It’s not as serious as it sounds,” he’d reassured her. “According to the ER doctor, hips heal slowly, but with physical therapy they do get better. Mostly she needs to avoid putting pressure on it for a month or so to allow it to heal, but apparently she also needs to be somewhat mobile to heal it.”

“No pressure and somewhat mobile. What does that mean?”

“It means she’ll be sedentary most of the time and using a walker to get around.”

“Is she in pain?”

“She’s got meds.”

“Is she still in the hospital?”

“Just overnight. She can come home tomorrow.”

“And then what?” Olivia knew her grandmother was there but wasn’t sure how Mom would handle being nursed by her.

“I really don’t know, honey. Anyway, I need to go back and check on her.” He cleared his throat. “She’s, uh, having a bad hair day.” Then he’d sort of laughed.

Olivia wasn’t sure what to make of that, but she’d decided then and there that her holiday vacation would start in the morning. She wasn’t sure how this new development would affect their intervention plan. Maybe a broken hip was God’s way of intervening. But she knew she wouldn’t find out until she got there and assessed the situation.

Mom’s hip wasn’t the only problem troubling her, but the other thing was too hard to think about. Every time she replayed the idea of Malcolm and Sadie spending the weekend at some cozy beach cabin hideaway, she wanted to scream . . . or just cry. And so she was refusing to think about it. At least, that’s what she told herself. But all the while it kept niggling at her. Like a little tormentor determined to get her attention.

“Just get over it! Move on!” she scolded herself. “Malcolm obviously has.”

As simple as that sounded, she knew it wasn’t easy. And since she still had almost an hour before she’d be home, she decided to just get it out of her system, walking through every memory that seemed to haunt her, until she reached the last conversation they’d had. And sure, he’d explained how he’d taken on double shifts in order to get good holiday vacation time. But had he really done that to get some vacation time at the beach with Sadie? Or was she just getting paranoid about nothing?

She tried to remember the tone of his voice in that last brief conversation. She wanted to convince herself it was apologetic, but in hindsight, it had been rather abrupt. She’d attributed it to him being overworked and tired. But maybe it was something more. Maybe he was trying to send her the subtle message he was done with her.

And why shouldn’t he be? After all, their families were like the Hatfields and McCoys, or the Capulets and Montagues, or whatever . . . and to be fair, it wasn’t Malcolm’s family that was to blame. It was all her mom. But it was hard to be mad at Mom when she was suffering so. Still, it probably wouldn’t improve neighborly relations between the Bradshaws and McEntires.

Like a dog chasing its tail, Olivia continued to grapple with these conflicting thoughts as she pulled into her parents’ driveway. “Let it go,” she told herself as she got out of her car and stretched. It was time to be a good daughter and focus on her mother. As she tugged her bag out of her trunk, Dad appeared.

“Let me take that,” he told her. “You go in and see your mom. She’s looking forward to it.”