WE FOLD CHARLENE’S cookies in tissue and place them in the snowmen and tree canisters, then bags, and take them into my office. A burgundy cloth protects the table and the ginger flower in a slender vase is the centerpiece. Roses and carnations go in a bulbous red vase on the coffee table, except for a few that I place in a stem holder on my bedside table. One rose is now in a bud vase in the bathroom.

It’s time for me to take a shower. When I’m dressed, Charlene is curled up on the sofa reading. “Here’s your paper.”

The headline is about corruption among public officials. Spending was lighter on cyber Monday. Blame and finger-pointing continues between the workers and the CEOs.

“I went to the drugstore. I know how to get rid of bruises.” Charlene rolls her eyes and I realize she’s talking about the years when she was abused. “Yellow covers blue, green covers red. So that’s blue.” She points to my cheek.

I’d forgotten about it.

I look at it for the first time in the makeup lights over my bathroom mirror. It does look like someone punched me. “It matches my eyes and enhances the color of my white hair.”

“You don’t want to answer questions about this all night.”

A brush with the yellow dabs my face.

“See. And then cover it with concealer.” Charlene adds light beige. “Voilà! No bruise. Look.”

The bruise is less obvious.

“You should have put ice on it.”

“I was making cookies, talking to Sky. My cheek wasn’t important.” I spread makeup with a sponge. “It doesn’t hurt. Not really.”

“Sometimes put yourself first.”

“Yeah. Right.”

I LEAN OVER to dust on some eye shadow, line my lower lids, and apply mascara, jiggling the wand so it won’t clump. Black pants and a new red T-shirt with black abstract strokes and a few sequins and beads will be perfect for tonight. Fluffing my hair, I check my teeth, my nails, and place silver earrings in my lobes. My white hair does bring out the blue in my eyes. Think I’ll let it grow longer. Maybe get Laurie to add a few more platinum highlights.

I dial Sky’s cell. “How’s it going?”

“She still hasn’t called.”

“Oh.”

“I hoped you were her.”

“Sorry. Nope, just calling to see how your day is going.”

“I just keep hoping ‘this afternoon’ means closer to noon than 6 P.M.”

I hear someone in the background say, “Here’s that citation you wanted.” And Sky’s muffled “Thanks.”

“Sounds like you’re busy.”

“Trying to be … and it’s mostly working. Staying distracted and getting things done.”

“Charlene’s here and we’re just getting dressed for the party.”

“Oh, can I say hello?”

“She’s taking a shower. I’ll let you take care of that citation. Call me when you hear, okay?”

“Of course.”