A slight chill went through her, pulling Ronnie from memory lane and back to the present. She replaced the cover over her Mustang and walked into the next bay. The red Porsche sat there. It was the first time she had seen it since the accident. The fourth bay was where she kept the Jeep and thus far she had made it a point not to go near the sports car. Now she slowly walked around the car, blue eyes taking in all the repairs. Green tape surrounded the edges of the new windshield, no doubt to allow the new rubber sealant to set. The hood, grill, bumper, and front right quarter panel were all gone, the dull gray metal chassis standing out in stark contrast to the rest of the vehicle. A rolling toolbox sat against the wall, evidence of Hans’ visits. Ronnie turned away from the car and leaned her hands against the toolbox while she fought to keep her stomach in check. She knew right then that she would never be able to drive the Porsche again. She bit down the resurgence of guilt and took deliberate steps toward the storage room door, all the while telling herself everything would work out, that Rose would completely recover, the damage she had caused could be repaired. She tried three different keys in the deadbolt until she found the right one and stepped into the darkness of the storage area.
It took Ronnie a minute to find the light switch. When she did, she found what she was looking for immediately. In the corner, under a pile of drop cloths was a five gallon work bucket that once held quick-dry concrete. She took it to the work sink nearby and cleaned it thoroughly until the milky white water ran clear. Her task accomplished, Ronnie returned to the house.
“So what did you think of that last question?”
“I still say it was too easy. Everyone knows even numbered interstates run east-west and the odd ones run north-south,” Rose replied, adjusting the pillow behind her head. Maria had left a few minutes before and they were now relaxing in the office.
“If everyone knows that, why do so many people get lost when they go traveling?” the older woman replied, leaning back in her chair and setting her bare feet up on the edge of the bed near Rose’s left hip. Since the winter months were upon them and Ronnie had no reason to wear open toed shoes, she did not bother to get pedicures as often as she usually did. In the process of wiggling her toes, a nail scratched against the one next to it. “Well, no wonder I’m ripping up all my pantyhose. I guess it’s time to call for a pedicure.” She saw a faraway look take over the young woman’s face. “What?” she asked softly. “Share with me.”
“You were talking about a pedicure and I was remembering when I was thirteen.” Seeing the expectant look on the chiseled face of her companion, Rose continued. “The State found a foster family for me for a few weeks and they had a girl right around my age. Stacey loved having me around because I was a willing guinea pig for her to practice cosmetology on. She loved to play with nail polish. She had rows and rows of bottles on her dresser in every color you can imagine.” Rose absently reached down and put her fingers on Ronnie’s toes. “Well, one night we got in a mood. We painted every nail a different color. I can remember that on my toes it went from plum to avocado to this hideous purple to…” As she spoke, her forefinger brushed across each of the long nails of the bare foot. “The funny thing is that we were up past our bedtime and we didn’t have time to remove it. We went to school the next day and when we went to take a shower after gym class everyone saw our toes.” She chuckled. “It really was funny. I mean, between the two of us there were twenty different colors on our feet. After that, Stacey deliberately wore different shades of polish on her fingers. That was the last time I polished my toenails.”
Ronnie looked at her quizzically, then rose and went to the foot of the bed. Within seconds the oversized socks were removed to reveal Rose’s toes. “When was the last time someone gave you a pedicure?”
“That was it, if you could call that a pedicure. I just use clippers to keep them short now. Ow, easy.”
“Oh, sorry,” Ronnie apologized, letting go of the little toe she had moved to get a better look at the one next to it. Can you feel that in your ankle?”
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t wiggle them. My legs hurt enough as it is.”
“When was the last time you took anything?”
“No, it’s not that bad right now. I’d rather wait until I really need it.”
Ronnie looked up and remembered what she wanted to do that evening. “Are you ready to get your hair washed?”
“You figured out a way?” She sat up, prepared to get back into the wheelchair.
“No, you stay here. I’ve got it all worked out so you don’t have to get out of bed.” She looked at the adjustable bed, currently up in a comfortable angle. “You’re gonna have to lay the bed flat, though.”
A few minutes later Rose was lying on her back across the bed, her head hanging off the side. A towel braced behind her shoulders dangled down to protect the mattress from any soapy water. Ronnie was sitting on a stool taken from the kitchen, the white five-gallon bucket nestled between her knees. A large towel lay on the floor below to catch any spills. “You ready?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Ronnie poured the water slowly over the blonde locks, using her other hand to help distribute the liquid over all the hair. She poured a generous amount of shampoo on her hand and worked it into a lather. Ronnie did her best to support Rose’s head, taking some of the strain off the young woman’s neck. “How’s that feel?”
“Niiiice,” she murmured, green eyes half-closed. “You have strong fingers.”
“I work out. Am I pressing too hard?”
“Oh no, it’s just right.”
“Good.” Ronnie continued to work her digits into the soft hair, thoroughly cleaning it. “Time to rinse. Keep your eyes closed.” Using her left hand to hold Rose’s head up, she gently rinsed the shampoo out. Once the majority was gone, she put another dollop of the strawberry scented liquid into her hand. “Round two.”
“You’re going to wash it again?” Rose asked with surprise.
“Of course. You know the directions. Lather, rinse, repeat.” She worked the shampoo into the golden hair before the young woman could tell her not to. “I take it you only wash it once?”