A Rose Revealed by Gayle Roper Read Free Book Online

chaos of last night, no one had thought to turn on the electric strip heater.
    The chaos of last night. My shivering was suddenly not caused by the chill.
    Sophie! And Ammon! And poor Peter, left all alone.
    And flashing lights and crackling radios and memories long feared.
    I sat up abruptly and felt the fear lessen as the cold wrapped its tentacles about me. I pressed my hands to my eyes.
    Don’t think of explosions and fires and screaming. Don’t think of static and flashing lights. Oh God, please don’t let me think about it! Help me remember how wonderful Sophie was, how funny she was, always with spirit and pluck even at the worst of times .
    And I remembered the wig Ammon had bought her to help her deal with her hair loss from the chemotherapy.
    “I’ll look like a poor man’s Dolly Parton in that thing,” she told me in disgust. “I know he meant well, but who does he think I am?” And she began to sing very off-key about knowing when to fold ’em and when to hold ’em.
    “Wrong singer,” I said as I looked at the veritable mountain of blonde ringlets lying on her bureau. “But you’re right. That thing is hardly the epitome of country club chic.”
    “Country club chic? Is that how you see me?” Sophie looked pleased.
    “Sure. Pageboys, Lilly Pulitzer prints, Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dresses, and small gold stud earrings. Not country western excess.”
    We both stared at the appalling wig. Sadly it did remind me of Ammon: lots of good overblown intentions but no sense of rightness or feel for his market.
    He’d recently had Pockets introduce a line of tacky plastic cars for almost the same price as the fine metal ones. From the little bit of conversation I’d overheard between the brothers and Sophie, the plastic cars were bombing big-time. Peter ranted about the cost of retooling production plants and the waste of advertising dollars on this fiasco. Sophie had begged Ammon to drop the inferior product before it undercut the reputation of the superior one. To my knowledge the issue had never been resolved.
    Sophie looked from the wig to me. “You put it on, Rose,” she ordered from her recliner. She raked a hand through what little hair remained on her head. When a fistful detached in her fingers, she looked at the clump in disgust. “I’m never wearing that wig, but I don’t feature going out looking like Cameron Diaz in My Sister’s Keeper either. I’ll go the hat and scarf route. Now try that thing on. I want to see how ugly I’d have looked.”
    I laughed but made no move toward the wig. Instead I pulled out my blood pressure cuff.
    She watched as I suddenly became incredibly focused on my work. She grinned. “No, you don’t. You can’t escape that easily.”
    I pretended I’d suddenly gone deaf.
    “You know how important a patient’s mental outlook is in her struggle with her illness,” Sophie said in her best rich matron voice. “Well, my mental health today depends on you trying on that monstrosity.” I looked at her askance. “You just want to laugh at me,” I said.
    “It’s better than laughing at me.” She pushed herself up against her pillows, leaned over, and dropped her swatch of real hair in the wastebasket. “Lots better.”
    I lay the cuff on the night table and walked reluctantly to the bureau. I picked up the blonde ringlets, amazed at how heavy it was.
    “This thing weighs enough to give me a permanent headache.” I held it as far away as my arm would reach, my lip curling in disdain.
    “Then I’ll give you an aspirin,” Sophie said. “Try it on.”
    “It’ll mess up my hair,” I said in a last ditch effort to avoid the inevitable.
    “So comb it,” she said unsympathetically. “And if you don’t have a comb or brush with you,” she hurried on when I opened my mouth to offer just that excuse, “you can use one of mine. Or your fingers if you’re too fastidious to share a comb.”
    “It’s a good thing you’re not the nurse,” I grumped.