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.”
From there they went to Macy’s to the makeup counters and Ray Anne went straight to MAC. It had not missed Ray’s attention that Ginger hadn’t packed cosmetics. Nor did she wear any. And every woman, Ray Anne said, can use a little help now and then. “My God, this stuff costs a fortune!” Ginger said. “I just buy my stuff at the grocery store!”
“Yes, I know, precious. I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that. That stuff turns you orange. Now, we don’t need to buy the full monty at the expensive counters, but there are some things you can’t do without. Your moisturizer, base, powder, lip color and mascara. That cheap mascara clumps. You need the right colors for your skin and hair. We can get things like blusher, eye shadow and lip gloss at the grocery store.” Ray Anne sat her down in a chair and gave orders to the saleswoman in her black smock. “Do her up.”
It was transforming. Ginger didn’t exactly feel happier in her heart, but when she looked at herself she didn’t feel like a walking corpse. “Amazing,” she said to her own face in the mirror.
The image that came to mind was when she was getting ready for the baby’s funeral and her mother sat her on the closed toilet lid and put a little color in her cheeks and on her lips, saying, “This is nothing more than a little superficial frosting, but it makes you look a little less like you died with the baby.” And Ginger had cried so hard, she couldn’t sit still for her mother’s ministrations. She had wanted to die with her baby, it was that raw in her chest.
But this was somehow different. All Ray Anne wanted from her was a little attempt to reenter the world of the living. It was so easy to lie in bed, to never leave the house, when every time she looked at herself she saw a dead woman.
Ray Anne’s phone rang a few times while they were out and she briskly answered that she was spending a day with her “niece” but would look through her listings when she got home and follow up.
While they were at Macy’s, Ray Anne whisked Ginger through lingerie.
“Do you have a preference in bras and panties?” she asked. Ginger merely shook her head and Ray Anne sighed. “I don’t want you trying on clothes until you have the right underthings and those baggy granny panties aren’t going to lay right under a nice pair of pants.” She poked through some brands and types—bikini, high cut, boy shorts. She handed three pairs to Ginger. “Try these on while I have a look through the bras.”
Ginger did as she was told. She was a little startled by the difference in her body with silky, colorful panties that fit. By the time Ray Anne arrived in the fitting room with bra samples she was able to say something positive. “I like them all.”
“Well, that was easy.” Ray Anne handed Ginger four bras to try. Then she took all of the underwear with them to the women’s wear department next door. Ray Anne didn’t even bother selecting but went straight to the saleslady, who she apparently knew. She asked to see a few things in Ginger’s size.
“I’d take that to be about a four,” the saleslady said. “Is that right, dear?”
She had been a ten or twelve. Her hips had been wide, her booty a little on the big and round side and she’d always had this issue with her thighs. And that was before she’d been pregnant. She had no idea what size she was now. “Sure,” she said.
Ray Anne made her put on new underwear, giving the saleslady the price tags for purchase. Then she took Ginger’s old underwear away and Ginger had the feeling she was never going to see them again.
The saleswoman put Ginger in a pair of slim jeans with a plain white silky tee and, over that, a pink denim bomber jacket with silver buttons. She had to stand up on her toes to be tall enough for the hem of the jeans but the effect was, well, shocking.
“You look eighteen,” Ray Anne said.
In fact, she did.
Next, another pair of jeans, different brand, a black blouse, a white V-necked sweater. Not a heavy sweater—lightweight for spring and summer. Again, amazing. Then came black pants with a tunic-style long-sleeved top. Sleeves pushed up, it was so pretty. It was something a person could wear out to dinner, if a person ever went out to dinner again in her life. A few more slacks, a few more tops, a few more jackets or sweaters.
Then the saleslady held up a dress. “I wish you’d try this on,” she said. “I’ve been dying to see it on someone with your figure. It’s so streamlined.” It wa
s dark purple with yellow piping across the shoulders to the edge of capped sleeves and down the side seams. There was a gold, slightly glittery pattern embossed on part of the front. It was diamond shaped and in an abstract design, from right below the mandarin collar to right below the waist. It was the most beautiful thing.
“Oh, I don’t need a dress. Plus,” she said, looking at the tag, “it’s much too expensive.”
“Put it on, Ginger,” Ray Anne commanded.
It was stunning. Ginger felt a little like a princess. Then she reminded herself that she couldn’t be a princess or feel that beautiful. She was in mourning.
“It’s irresistible,” Ray Anne said. “Now just don’t bring us any more clothes. Ginger, put on those jeans with the white tee and pink jacket. You’re wearing it to lunch and then home.”
“Ray, don’t throw out my jeans.”
“Of course not, darling. You might need them for the next time you paint a house. We’ll stop in the shoe department and then we’ll have a lovely lunch together.” She looked at her watch. “Good, the lunch crowd will have passed and not only will it be quiet, it’s late enough in the day that we can manage with something light for dinner much later.” She examined her phone. “Looks like I’m going to be on the phone and computer after we get back to Thunder Point. For a Realtor and property manager a day with a lot of phone calls is a good day.”
They were alone in the dressing room and in a whisper she hoped wouldn’t be overheard, Ginger spoke. “Ray Anne, I appreciate all this so much, I do. But you can’t rescue me from grief with a few new outfits and a haircut.”
Ray Anne gave her a pitying look. “No one knows that better than I do, Gingersnap. But the other thing I know is that you have two choices—you can grieve that useless ex-husband and your precious lost baby forever or you can do what you must to move on and make life bearable. Because, honey, we’re stuck with life.”
Ginger positioned her arms as though cradling a baby in her arms. “When I put my arms like this, I can still feel the weight of his tiny head right there, in the crook.”
“Sugar, that’s not ever going away. You’re not going to forget. You’re just going to carry on. It’s not easy. It’s all you can do.” She blinked. “Now I think we need some shoes and some guacamole. You get dressed. I’m going to deal with the receipts.”
Fifteen
When Grace called Mikhail, he asked for the details of this dying. So she read the letter, though she stumbled from time to time.
My Dear Izzy,
First of all, I’m very sorry about my harsh words when you retired from skating. I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t. Shock and disappointment got the best of me. And I apologize about the mysterious note. I knew it would frighten you. I actually hoped it would. I think I must have had a stroke of some kind, that something like that would make perfect sense to me. Then you would come to me and I would pull all the right strings—you would feel safe again with my protection.
A fool’s game. I apologize. I wanted you to come home but not because you pitied me.
I am sorry about the years of arguments about skating and, if not skating, coaching or consulting or reporting or judging. Every time we get through with one of those conversations, with one of those power struggles, I am filled with hate for myself and anger with you. It’s the worst feeling and I always pledge never to allow myself to do that again. And yet I have.
There is a reason. Not an excuse, but a reason. I learned a couple of years ago that I have ALS. For a while the symptoms were manageable and it was easy to imagine it would be years before it would matter. And I resolved to use those years to lure you back to your roots. It wasn’t so much that I wanted you to compete. It was that I wanted you to be secure. I have always known I wouldn’t be alive forever, but never panicked that my time was short.
You are the only heir to this old Dillon money. Your half brother is not a part of my family and your father settled with him generously before and after his death. There is no one else, Izzy. It’s only you. And to my embarrassment, I’ve never acquainted you with the complications and responsibilities associated with this legacy. I’ve been managing since my parents died, before you were even a teenager. The work is immense. The threat of cons and predators and incompetent advisors is constant. People will take advantage of you. Steal from you if you even blink. Even charities will use you. Frankly, I don’t care if you spend it all on something that makes you happy, but I worry that if I don’t do my job you could lose it or be swindled.
That’s why I want your undivided attention for a few months. It is complex and you’ll find there are decisions to be made.
This ALS is hard. The symptoms are coming faster now. I’m an athlete at the core and even when I stopped competing, my body never betrayed me before. I was always competent and confident and now I don’t dare cross the street alone. The jitters and weakness and trembling and unbelievable fatigue are getting the best of me. I don’t know how much time there is. We should get this thing between us settled once and for all.
It’s not important that one of us wins, Izzy. It’s very important that we forgive each other. Before it’s too late. Before we can’t go back.
Love,
Mother
When she was finished, still wiping away the occasional tear as she read, she heard Mikhail curse. She had noticed that Troy wandered into the kitchen for more coffee, lingering at the coffeepot with his back turned to her as if it was painful to listen.
Mikhail said something she didn’t understand. “Sheet of the gods. I will come. Where do I come?”
She laughed through her tears. Shit of the gods? When he was himself, when he wasn’t pushing her to do more, do better, he could make her laugh and love him. “Why come, Mikhail?” she asked. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I can see her one time. She made my life when she gave me you. I am now best coach. I was not best coach before you.” He grunted. “But is Winifred. Will be hard. Where do I come?”
“Well, I live in one-and-a-half rooms, but Winnie is in a nice house at a resort in Bandon, close by. She has bedrooms.”
“She will not have me,” he said. “She is diva. Where is this Brandon?”
“It’s Bandon. Oregon.”
“Oregon? Did we skate in this Oregon?”
Grace smiled. Mikhail was a Russian immigrant; his US geography wasn’t great. They used to study the map before every competition. He was much better with Europe and Asia than the US. “We did not. It’s about an eight-hour drive north of San Francisco. She brought her car and driver. Before you buy a ticket, let me be sure Winnie goes for this idea.”
“Just make me a place to stay. Some dirty hotel will do. I just need empty room. Bed would be nice.”
“How can you get away so suddenly?”
“Did you say someone is dying? Ah, is good time. Best matches are coming in fall. Right now I can be spared. For a little while, not forever. I have only terrible athletes now. Maybe they get nervous and work harder if I ignore them, eh? I can throw a little pout so they think I quit, yes? Then we see what we see! Don’t tell Winifred. She hates me.”
“She loves you,” Grace said.
“That is love? She has the hardest love in my experience.”
“Yeah. I know.” She sighed. “I think you can fly into Eugene. That could be closest. But really, you don’t have to—”
“In Russia, is important to pay gratitude. Otherwise, there might not be a place for me when my time comes.”
When she disconnected, Troy came back to sit beside her on the couch. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m going to have to see her. Will you come with me?”
“I’ll take you,” he said. “But I’m not going to sit with you while you talk to your mother. I think she feels this is pers
onal family business.”
“What am I going to do? I’m not going to San Francisco to live with her!”
“You can do whatever you have to do, Gracie. No matter what you decide to do, the sad reality is that it’s not forever. Be sure that in the end you don’t have any regrets. That’s all.”
* * *
Grace hung a sign on the flower shop door. Closed for the Day. Open Tomorrow 9:00 a.m. She put her work cell number at the bottom for phone orders.
Troy was determined not to be involved, at least not at this point. He dropped her at the cottage Winnie occupied and he left. He said he wouldn’t be far away and she could call him. He’d come back when she needed him.
Winnie was comfortably settled on a chaise longue in her bedroom, a soft throw around her shoulders and a pillow under her knees. She had a book in her lap, but it was closed. Virginia let Grace into the room.
“You look very comfortable,” Grace said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
She lifted the book. “The one thing I thought I’d do with all this godforsaken leisure time was read, but do you suppose I can concentrate?”
Grace laughed and sat on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. “Skating wasn’t the only gift you gave me, you know. I love to read and I suppose a lot of that is because of you. On all those long trips we took, you always had a book going. You packed books. You read during practice and in the car on long rides.”
“And now I can’t seem to focus.”
“You will once we get a few details organized. I wanted to bring you flowers but since I brought you five hundred dollars’ worth yesterday, it seemed ridiculous.”
“I kept the smashed arrangement and sent the other three to hospitals and nursing homes,” she said, having the grace to blush slightly. “They’re beautiful, Izz—is it really Grace now?”