Page 24 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

But Olivia was out running errands right now. Hopefully, among other things, to secure an attractive wig to conceal Jane’s horrid hair. All of Olivia’s home remedies had only managed to tone the blue down a few shades and turn her hair into a straw-like texture. So now instead of looking like a wannabe teenager, she resembled an old lady who had used a bit too much blue on her scarecrow-like hair. It was just plain ugly. And at the moment, she had neither a scarf nor a hat on hand to hide her shame.

“Go on in and say hello,” Lulu was telling Cindy. “Take your cookies in for her to see. They’re so pretty and yet delicious. Honestly, I can’t believe you baked them yourself.”

“I love making Christmas cookies.” Cindy’s voice sounded as if they were right outside her doorway now. “Are you sure I’m not disturbing her?”

“No, she’ll be glad to see you,” Lulu assured her.

Jane tried to slump down in her bed, grabbing a pillow to hide her hair, but it was too late. Cindy was already walking up to her bedside, looking down with eyes filled with pity. Of course, she had no idea that Jane despised being pitied. She much preferred being admired or even envied. But never pitied. Still, it was too late to hide. And so she simply folded her arms in front of her and glowered at the intrusive neighbor.

“I’m sorry to barge in,” Cindy glanced at Lulu. “But your mother said it was—”

“I heard what my mother said,” Jane snapped. “Thank you for the cookies. Please take them to the kitchen.” She stopped herself from adding “and put them in the trash compactor.”

“I was so sorry to hear of your injury,” Cindy continued as if oblivious to her unwanted presence. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I hope you’ll call. You know that’s what neighbors are for—to help each other when in need.”

“Thank you, but my daughter and mother are more than enough help. And Rob as well.”

Cindy was staring at her hair now. “That was unfortunate about your hair. Rob told Erik all about it. I was so sorry for you. You have such gorgeous hair normally. I always wish my hair could have grayed and whitened as nicely as yours.” She patted her short charcoal-gray hair. “But at least I have hair.” She chuckled.

“Lucky you,” Jane said dryly. She wanted to add that if Olivia didn’t find an appropriate wig, she might have her daughter shave her head and wear hats until it grew out. Maybe she could pass herself off as a cancer survivor, although that seemed like a terrible way to conceal her stupidity.

Cindy noticed a scarf on a nearby chair but out of reach of the bed. “Have you been wearing scarves to cover your hair?” She picked it up. “This is really pretty.”

“Yes. Olivia forgot to help me with that this morning.”

“Why don’t you let me?” Cindy set her cookie plate on the bureau and came over. “I used to be pretty good at this. Back when I had my chemo treatments. Thank God that’s behind me now.”

Jane blinked. “Did you have cancer?”

“Yes.” She pointed to her chest. “I had a double. But I’ve been in remission for almost ten years now.” She gently set the pale lavender scarf on top of Jane’s head.

“Oh?” Jane felt a wave of guilt. “I, uh, I didn’t know.”

“Well, I didn’t go around advertising.” She began winding the scarf around Jane’s hair. “I’ve always preferred these cotton scarves. Silky ones just slide right off my hair. I liked wearing them like a turban, because it gave more bulk to my head, which resembled a cue ball.” She chuckled as she tied and tucked in the ends of the scarf. Then she picked up a hand mirror from the bedside table. “There. What do you think?”

Jane stared in wonder. “It looks perfect. Thanks.”

Cindy patted her shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Jane, you make it look perfect.”

Jane didn’t know what to say, but she felt something like tears stinging behind her eyes. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“Now, I won’t bother you anymore,” Cindy said, “if you try just one cookie.” She pointed to the powdery white ones. “These are my favorites. Russian tea cakes. It’s an old family recipe. But you might want a cup of tea or coffee with it.” She picked up an empty tea mug from the bedside table. “How about I bring you some?”

Jane just mutely nodded. But while Cindy was getting her tea, she was assaulted by a big wave of guilt. Why had she been so hateful to Cindy? And why didn’t she know she had gone through cancer treatments . . . why hadn’t Rob told her? Unless he, too, was unaware. She knew there was no way to make up for past wrongs. She wasn’t even sure she knew how to or if it was humanly possible. But at least she could try.

Cindy returned with a steaming cup of tea. “Here you go, dear. Lulu said this was your favorite one. I’m not much of a tea drinker, but it smells good.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a long list of holiday chores today. Oh, I shouldn’t call them chores since I enjoy them so much. But I better get going.” She clasped Jane’s shoulder. “I hope and pray your hip mends quickly. And honestly, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. That’s what neighbors are for.”

“Yes, thank you.” Jane’s smile was weak. “And I’ll try to become a better neighbor.” She felt insincere, but under the circumstances . . .

Cindy’s dark eyes sparkled. “That’s wonderful, Jane. Thank you so much. Now you take care.” She blew a kiss as she left, and Jane, feeling satisfied that she’d taken a baby step toward becoming a better neighbor, leaned back with a sigh. Oh, she knew it would be easy to fall back into her old ways, but she would try to change.

For the next couple of days, Jane felt like the great pretender. Despite Olivia’s inability to secure a wig, she acted like it was no big deal. After all, her family was getting used to the weird Mama Smurf hair. And wearing a headscarf was rather elegant, wasn’t it? And when she told Rob to cancel their Christmas plans to host several prominent couples like they usually did—her big chance to get people to admire her home and holiday decor—she blamed it on her injury, not the truth that she was too embarrassed to have them see her like this.

And for the most part she was able to conceal her pain and humiliation as she sat in her wheelchair or hobbled about with her walker, feeling like she was about a hundred years old. She even managed to appear unaffected by the cheap, cheesy Christmas decorations spread through her home like a tasteless pestilence. And she even did her best to eat the food served to her without complaining. Thankfully, Olivia was doing some of the cooking now.