Home Again
Lina paced back and forth down the quiet corridor of the ICU. Every now and then a nurse or doc would say hello and she’d be forced to look up and mumble something in response, but other than that, she just kept moving.
Hilda scurried up the corridor and tapped her on the shoulder. “You’re pacing like a caged cat, sweetie. What’s wrong?”
Lina barely looked at her. It took all her self-control to stand still. Her foot tapped wildly. She’d known and loved Hilda for most of her life, but right now she was too nervous to make small talk. She remembered belatedly that Hilda had asked her a question, but she couldn’t remember what it was.
Hilda peered up at Lina, giving her the same once-over she always did, then she clucked disapprovingly. “My daughter’s a beautician, you know. She could do fabulous things with that hair of yours.”
The transplant nurse had been dishing out beauty advice for years. Every time she saw Lina, she came up, pinched her cheek, and shook her head, muttering something about how pretty Lina could be with a little less makeup. Ordinarily Lina laughed at Hilda’s half-joking advice.
Not today.
Her father was going to see her in a few minutes. What if he thought she was ugly?
With a gasp, she shoved her hands in her pockets and spun around, leaving Hilda gape-mouthed behind her. She ran to her mom’s office and sneaked inside, shutting the door. She hurried to the antique Victorian mirror beside the bookcase and peered into the glass.
The girl who stared back at her was pale and puffy-eyed from lack of sleep. Her hair stood out in a thousand uneven spikes. The black eye pencil she’d applied beneath her lower lashes made her look like she’d been punched in the face.
How come she’d never seen that before?
Oh, God, she thought in a sudden panic. Her daddy was going to think she was butt-ugly.
She rummaged through her mom’s desk drawer and pulled out a comb, trying to rearrange her haircut, but it was no use.
When she went back to the mirror, she felt a sinking sense of fear. She still looked like one of those runaways you sometimes saw haunting the downtown streets after dark.
The door clicked open and Lina spun around again. She was so nervous, she dropped the comb. It hit the linoleum floor with a clatter.
Mom walked into the room, and Lina felt almost sick to her stomach. As always, her mother looked like she just stepped off the pages of a makeup advertisement—golden-brown hair swept off her face in carefully controlled curls, beautiful hazel eyes highlighted by just a little brown mascara. Wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater and black pants, she was the picture of cool sophistication and class.
That was what her father thought was pretty.
Lina glanced at herself in the mirror again and winced. “I can’t do it, Mom. I have to come back tomorrow. I think I got food poisoning from the cereal this morning.”
“He’s waiting for you,” she answered quietly, closing the door behind her.
Lina felt her heartbeat speed up. “H-He said he’d see me?”
Mom frowned and moved toward her. “Are you okay?”
Lina nodded, then shook her head, then tried to nod again, but the tears came, flooding her eyes. “No,” she whispered.
Mom stroked her cheek. “It’s okay to be nervous.”
“I’m ugly.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“I never should have let Jett cut my hair.” She looked’ up at her mother quickly, waiting for the I told you so, but thankfully, it never came. Finally she said, “Do you think … maybe you could make me look like you?”
Mom studied her, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, no… you’re much prettier than I am.”
“Yeah, right,” she whined. “And Bosnia is a great vacation spot.”
Mom took her hand and led her to the chair behind the desk.
Lina sat down.
“Tilt your face up,” Mom said. When Lina complied, her mother used some cream and a tissue to take off all Lina’s makeup, then she reapplied just a little. Mascara, blush, and some pale pink lipstick. Then she combed Lina’s hair back from her face and sprayed it with something.