Chapter 35
“Stick-on craft gems?” I eye the sheet of stickers warily.
“What girl doesn’t need a little bling in her life?” Hayley shimmies her shoulders in a way that makes me think she’s been watching too many Lady Gaga music videos.
I turn to Martha and raise my brows at her in a silent plea for help. Surely she’ll be the sound of reason.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Martha pulls out two more sheets of sparkly jewels in different colors. “I agree with Hayley on this one.”
I groan but let Hayley push me down into one of the extra kid-sized chairs we have in the storage area, plastic bins holding puppets and craft supplies lining the wall opposite me.
There’s barely room enough for the three of us in here, and there’s a little voice in the back of my head reminding me that we’re librarians at work and we should be, you know, working.
Thankfully our supervisor, who mostly works remotely from another branch, isn’t scheduled to come in today and won’t catch us shirking our duties.
But as Hayley peels off a turquoise gem and I remove my wig, I can’t make myself care about the responsibilities on the other side of the open door, just glad that for now the library is deserted and if someone stops by, then Hayley has volunteered to go out and help them.
I should be too old and mature for a makeover montage à la every teen movie, but, surprisingly, I find I’m not.
“This is the day Evangeline gets her groove back.” Hayley snaps her fingers four times in a Z pattern, her head bobbing back and forth with each snap.
Martha and I stare at her, then bust out laughing.
“Please never do that again,” Martha begs between chuckles.
Hayley sniffs in exaggeration, pretending to be offended. “I can pull it off.”
I’m catching my breath while I shake my head at her. “I love you, sweetie, but no, you cannot.”
“Hmph.”
Martha’s gaze snags on mine, and we snicker some more.
There isn’t a mirror so I have no idea what my two friends are turning me into.
Now that the laughter has died down, they have concentrated looks on their faces, peeling off stickers and placing them on my head.
I’m a little antsy and nervous about the outcome of this.
I know Hayley wants to boost my confidence, but I’m afraid I’m going to look more like a circus performer than anything.
“What were these stickers originally supposed to be used for?” I ask Martha to distract myself.
“A Rainbow Fish craft.” Her focus never leaves the spot behind my ear that she’s working on.
“The book about the fish with the glittering scales who shares his sparkle with the other fish?”
“That’s the one.”
I keep my upper body still but reach out a hand and snatch a sheet of stickers out of the storage container. Peeling one off by feel alone, I place the ruby-red jewel on the apple of Martha’s cheek, followed by another on Hayley’s.
“What are you doing?” Hayley lightly touches the sticker.
“Sharing my sparkle.” The words are trite. I can hear that. But when Martha and Hayley squish me in a hug sandwich, I know they understand the depth of what I truly mean.
“There. I think that does it.” Hayley places one last gem to the crown of my head, then straightens.
Martha leans her shoulder against Hayley’s and inspects their collective work. “Chin up, Evangeline. You’ve got your glow back, and you’re not going to let anyone snuff it out again, you hear?”
I sniff against the tingle of emotion threatening to fill my eyes and nod.
“Aunt Missy really likes Martinelli’s Sparkling Blush but never buys it for herself because she thinks it’s too fancy for some reason. Anyway, if you show up with a couple of bottles, she’ll be tickled pink with you.”
“I can do that.”
Both Martha and Hayley look at me expectantly.
“Oh, you mean now? But my shift isn’t over.”
“We’ll cover for you,” Martha assures.
“That way if you want to go to the store a couple towns over and share your sparkle”—Hayley waves her hand toward my bedazzled head that I still haven’t gotten a look at—“while not worrying about running into anyone you know, you can.”
Martha nods in agreement. “Now shoo.” She swats the air like she’s trying to get a pesky bug to leave.
“I’m going, I’m going. Sheesh.” Before I leave the closet, I carefully place my wig on my head so I don’t accidentally knock any of the stickers off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I grab my purse from behind the front desk, then do as I’m told—I get.
When I turn into the parking lot of a grocery store three towns away, I take a deep breath and pull down the visor in front of the windshield.
My reflection stares back at me in the tiny mirror.
This is the last time, I promise myself.
The last time I drive out of town like I’m ashamed of myself or have a deep dark secret.
“No more hiding.” My fingernails graze my nonexistent hairline and hook under the webbing of my wig. I lift the headpiece and let my scalp breathe.
The afternoon sun shines through the side window, bouncing off every ridge and plane of the paste jewels stuck to my scalp, throwing light in a million directions. My breath hitches at the sight. Lyrics from a Danny Gokey song blaze through my mind: “You were made to shine.”
I have to squint against the sun’s brightness as I step around a poorly parked car. The store is busier than I would’ve expected, and there are quite a few people navigating the parking lot, pushing carts full of grocery bags.
“Mommy, look. It’s a princess.”
I can barely hear the little girl’s voice over the clattering of shopping cart wheels, but my gaze scans the area, looking for said princess.
Sometimes the high-school girl named that year’s town royalty shows up for events in a ball gown and sash.
I don’t see a teen with ringlet curls, though.
I do, however, see a little blond girl about four years old sitting in a racecar-designed cart staring straight at me.
“I want to be a princess like her and have a crown of jewels like that.”
I press on one of the colored rhinestones as my throat thickens. The girl’s mom leans toward her daughter and says something I can’t hear, then she straightens, smiles at me, and nods as we pass each other, her to her minivan and me toward the automatic doors whooshing open in front of me.
The blast of arctic air-conditioning snaps me out of my momentary daze. I refocus, looking at the hanging aisle signs to find where the beverages are shelved. I turn down a row with a line of glass bottles on one side and scan their labels, looking for the nonalcoholic brand Tai’s mom likes.
There. I grab two bottles and pivot toward the checkout counters. I pass a few fellow shoppers, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice them noticing me—or my head, more precisely.
But I keep my shoulders back and my chin up. They may pity me or come to their own wrong conclusions, but at least one person today said I was a princess and that’s probably more than they can say about themselves.
In true small-town style, there isn’t a self-checkout register, so I enter the short line to pay, one customer ahead of me.
He only has a deli-made hoagie sandwich and a can of Coke, so it doesn’t take long before I step in front of the cashier and put the two bottles of sparkling blush onto the conveyor belt.
I smile congenially at the cashier, who appears to be so ancient that she was one of the eight occupants on the ark. “Hello. How are you doing today?”
She grabs one of the bottles by the neck as she squints at me then points with a gnarled finger at my head. “Why’d you do that to yourself?”
My chin tucks as I flinch in surprise. “Excuse me?”
She jabs the air with her finger again. “Your hair. Why’d you do that to yourself?” She slowly slides the first bottle across the scanner, and the machine beeps.
I blink, shock chilling my core and causing me to shiver. I’ve never been called out and confronted like this. Judged silently, sure, but this? Never.
“Umm. I didn’t do anything to my hair. I have alopecia so it fell out on its own.” Not that it’s any of your business.
She nods as she takes hold of the second bottle. “You know they make wigs, don’t you?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes, I do know that.”
“But you aren’t wearing one.”
“No, I am not.”
Beep goes the machine.
Finally. I can pay and get out of here.
“Good for you.”
I still, replaying what Grandma Noah just said. Surely, I heard wrong. “Excuse me?”
She slides the bottles into a paper bag.
“Good. For. You, honey.” She enunciates each word like I’m the one hard of hearing.
“You’re an inspiration, I say. You never know who you’re going to encounter each day, who you’re going to influence.
You don’t even have to say a word. You just have to be yourself. ”
A throat clears behind me, drawing both the elderly cashier’s and my attention. A haggard-looking man in a rumpled flannel, buttons mismatched and bags under his eyes, stands with his arms at his sides and a cellphone in his left hand.
“Sorry for eavesdropping and, uhh . . .” He holds up his phone.
“I guess I should also apologize for sneaking a picture of you without your permission.” A photo of me in profile shows on his screen.
“You see, my daughter is going through chemo right now, and it’s been rough, as you can imagine.
When I saw you, I thought, I wish Abby could see her because I knew she’d think how you celebrated your baldness was beautiful and maybe it would help her to see her own beauty, even without her hair. ”
“I . . .” I swipe at the tear trailing down my cheek. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Except maybe . . .” He flushes, clearly embarrassed. “Yes to a better picture?” He shrugs adorably.
I laugh despite my tears and wipe my eyes again. “Yes, of course.”
Grandma Noah winks at me. “See? An inspiration.”