Chapter 11
eleven
Lulu had only been a guest for three days—three excruciatingly long days—but by day two Jane felt she was losing her mind.
Literally. Besides feeling foggy and confused, she was extremely irritable about everything.
It didn’t help that she and Rob were not speaking.
Rather, she was not speaking to him. That stubborn man kept trying to make small talk, acting like nothing was wrong.
But she was so infuriated with him, she couldn’t even risk the slightest verbal exchange for fear she would explode into uncontrolled swearing.
And she had never in her life uttered a single bad word and had always abhorred hearing others engage in such infantile behavior.
But the words rolling through her head right now were profane enough to make a logger blush.
To make matters worse, Rob, who’d never seemed overly fond of his mother-in-law, seemed to be actually enjoying her company.
Jane should’ve been grateful for the time the strange pair spent playing cribbage or watching ridiculous YouTube videos after dinner since it meant fewer interactions between her and her mom, plus it allowed her to sneak off to bed unnoticed.
And yet their uncanny compatibility was like adding insult to injury and was profoundly aggravating.
On top of that, Lulu’s insistence on “helping” in the kitchen had become the tipping point.
If Jane was really going to lose it, her kitchen would be the battleground she would surely die upon.
For the last three nights, her “helpful” mother had concocted all sorts of bizarre international dinners that Jane and Rob had never even heard of.
Where she’d collected her strange ingredients was a mystery.
Maybe they’d come in her zebra-striped bag.
And whether or not it was to further torment Jane, who refused to eat her mom’s awful food, Rob appeared to enjoy each feast that Lulu prepared and even offered to shop for her.
But it was the messes Lulu left behind that really pushed Jane’s buttons.
It was like something from a bad dream, which was no exaggeration since nightmarish images of her ravaged kitchen woke her in the wee hours.
Not that she was getting much sleep. Oh, she’d pretend to be snoozing after hurriedly setting her book aside before Rob came to bed.
Never mind she’d reread the same chapter over and over.
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.