Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes(26)

 

“He said we were friends. He thinks we’re friends, Aunt Bessie.” I said it as if it were declared the eighth wonder of the world.

 

“So? Why can’t you be friends?”

 

“Because I’m different. You know that.”

 

“Your grandmother, my mother, had the gift of sight. She had lots of friends.”

 

“But she wasn’t like me. I’m different.”

 

“Not so different. Besides, what’s wrong with bein’ different? Sometimes it’s good to stand apart from everyone else.”

 

“Momma didn't think so.”

 

Aunt Bessie continued rubbing my head for a bit then finally spoke. “Rose, your Momma had a hard life. There’s things about her you don’t know.”

 

“That still doesn’t excuse the way she treated me.”

 

“No, but sometimes if we understand why someone does what they do it helps take the sting of the hurt away.”

 

“What about the way she treated Daddy? That wasn't right either.”

 

Aunt Bessie sighed and sat down in the chair next to me. “Your daddy wasn't a perfect man. No one is perfect.”

 

“That’s what Joe said tonight.”

 

She patted my hand. “Then your Joe is a smart man.” She took a sip of her now cooled tea. “Your Daddy did some things that hurt your Momma deeply. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they broke her. Someday, you might want to know what happened, but now isn't the right time. When you’re ready, come to me and I’ll tell you everythin’ I know.”

 

I wasn't sure I’d ever want to know, but I nodded and drank my tea.

 

The next morning I padded around the kitchen, making breakfast and brewing coffee when Aunt Bessie came in.

 

“That living room looks so bright and cheerful in the morning light.”

 

I smiled as I turned my head to look at the glow. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

 

“Have you thought about where you’ll live now that your Momma is gone?”

 

My heart skipped. “Why, I thought I’d stay here.”

 

“I’m sure that’s fine, but more than likely, Violet will own half of it. You two will have to work out some type of arrangement.”

 

One more thing I hadn’t considered.

 

Aunt Bessie patted my arm. “No need to worry, Rose. Violet has her own house, she won’t want this one. You’ll probably just buy out her half.”

 

I stewed about it as I poured our cups of coffee.

 

“When was the last time you had your hair cut?” she asked.

 

I couldn’t remember, so Aunt Bessie insisted on giving me a trim. She set me in a chair in the middle of the kitchen and snipped away with the scissors she said she always traveled with. I suspected she brought them with the sole purpose of cutting my hair, which had always annoyed the tarnation out of her. At one point during the cut, I had a vision and told her one of the hairdressers in her shop was going to leave and try to steal some of her clients. Aunt Bessie took it in stride, thanked me for my useful information, and continued trimming.

 

The amount of hair that fell to the floor alarmed me, but Aunt Bessie said to trust her. Which I did. It wasn’t like my hair had a particular style anyway. When she finished cutting, she pulled out a fat curling iron and flipped out the ends.

 

“Okay, go check it out.”

 

I went to the bathroom, Aunt Bessie on my heels, and we stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was speechless.

 

“It should be a lot lighter now. I razor-cut the edges and thinned it out a bit, you can take a big curling rod to the ends and flip them out or just wear it straight.”

 

Aunt Bessie could have been speaking Greek for all I understand, but I didn’t pay much attention anyway. I was too busy gawking at my hair.

 

“I can’t believe it’s me.” I turned my head from side to side, watching my hair sway against my shoulders. It now sported layers and framed my face with long bangs, a far cry from the dry, lifeless hair I had before. I shook my head and it bounced.

 

“You’ve been hidin’ too long, Rose Anne Gardner,” Bessie said from behind me. “It’s time to shed that cocoon and become the beautiful butterfly you’re meant to be.”

 

“Aw, Aunt Bessie.” I gave her a big hug. “Thank you. I love it.”

 

We dressed for the funeral. I felt very sophisticated in my dress and new hair. I tottered down the hall in my heels, wishing I had thought to practice in them sooner. Aunt Bessie approved and insisted on putting a little bit of makeup on me, telling me cosmetics were not the devil’s oil paints, contrary to what Momma always said.