Chapter Sixteen
Bree
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” Allison said.
Bree raised the scissors. “We can still go to a professional.”
“Just do it. Right, Taylor? Tell Auntie Bree to do it.”
From her countertop perch in the bathroom, Taylor clapped her hands. “Do it, Auntie Bree. Do it!”
Bree took a breath. “Okay, but when this goes wrong, I’m going to say I told you so.” Then she snipped.
Modern medicine was amazing. It could tell patients how many days it would take for their hair to start falling out after they began chemo. Allison had found the first strands on her pillowcase that morning. Instead of losing it bit by bit, she’d decided she wanted to get rid of it while it was still her choice. She enlisted Taylor as her own cheering section after explaining she was going to look different for a while.
Taylor tried on the long, brunette wig Allison had purchased before she went into the hospital. They all had a good giggle. When Allie put it on, Taylor was delighted that her mother and her aunt looked like twins. They weren’t even close, but if that was what kept the four-year-old from being scared of her mother’s new look, Bree wasn’t going to argue.
Bree’s scissors took off most of the length. Tyson’s clippers took the stubble down to the scalp. Allison stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the wig so it sat naturally on her head. “If I’m a brunette now, does that mean I get to tell blonde jokes now instead of having them told to me?” she asked.
“Nope. Because you’re still a blonde on the inside, where it counts. Blonde is better, isn’t it, Tay?” Bree reached over and tugged one of Taylor’s golden pigtails gently. Even if the little girl didn’t understand the joke, Bree wanted her to know she was included, and all was good.
“Yes!”
“Okay, time for you to go to school. What’s the most important thing about Mommy’s haircut?” Allison asked.
“Only grown-ups are allowed to cut hair,” Taylor said dutifully.
“Make sure you don’t forget that part.” Allison kissed her daughter and helped her to the floor. “To the front door with you. You need rain boots today.”
Taylor scampered off.
“How are you doing?” Bree asked. She wasn’t inquiring about Allie’s physical health. It was her mental state Bree was worried about.
“I think I’ll lay down for a bit when you take her to school.”
“I’ll take the long way,” Bree said. ‘Lay down for a bit’ was code for ‘I need a cry’. And napping, but in this case, she guessed the tissue box was going to make an appearance. Brave faces were necessary, especially around children, but boxing up the emotions wouldn’t do anybody any good.
Chemo was worse now that Allie knew what was coming. Bree readThe Eyre Affairaloud, giving her friend something else to focus on. The fact that it was utter nonsense was irrelevant. They stumbled home and got Allison into her bed, which had already been prepped for Vomiting 2.0. Towels and garbage bag-lined wastepaper baskets were waiting and used.
Allie sobbed between bouts of nausea. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Two down, sixteen to go. You can do sixteen,” Bree said, rubbing her back gently in case it was more painful than helpful. Four and half more weeks of this would be terrible, but Allie could do it.
“It hurts. My body hurts. My heart hurts. I’m so damned tired.”
What could she do? Tell her best friend she was wrong about her cancer? The only thing she could fix, she did. Bree popped the lid on the bottle of painkillers the doctors had provided. She offered one to Allie, who took it without complaint. “Sleep,” Bree said.
She put on her own mask when she picked Taylor up from Kindergarten, and left it on when Tyson got home. Allie would pull it together by the time she woke up. She’d do anything to protect her family. Which meant Bree had to as well.
Bree shut down on the drive home. No music, no radio. Just blessed silence. She made one stop at a drive-through, since she was in no shape to cook. She choked down half the hamburger before she gave up and tossed the rest. She was debating bed or sofa when there was a knock at her door.
She ignored it.
More knocking. Then the knocking turned to pounding. “Bree, open the door before I kick it in.”
Eric.
