The scrubs are comfortable and fit as well as scrubs do. Rose chooses the blond wig over the brown pixie. The bob’s swinging sides obscure more of her face. Customarily Rose wears little makeup—lipstick and maybe a dash of blush. Tonight she puts on base, dusts the sides of her nose with a pale brown to make it appear narrower, low-lights her cheeks with a heavier blush, and lines and mascaras her eyes. The result is not remarkable, particularly in the South, where women often wear full makeup, but she no longer looks like the washed-out old crazy woman the people at Longwood know.

From the drawer of an overturned bed stand, she fishes out a pair of reading glasses with multicolored frames and hangs them around her neck on a beaded strap made for the purpose.

Studying herself in the mirror, she is satisfied. Gone is the vacant wraith that wandered Longwood’s halls in Rose’s skin. In its place is a middle-aged health care professional who takes pains with her appearance. The alterations, along with the fact that no one will be looking for her at Longwood, should be sufficient.

Pleased with herself, Rose goes back downstairs. Mel is on the couch making her fond farewells to her cell phone.

“What do you think?” Rose strikes a modeling pose.

Mel’s face crumples the way it did when she was two, before she was old enough to keep her emotions from showing. Tears fill her lovely eyes.

Rose wants to shoot herself.

The wig, the scrubs: Rose is disguised as Mel’s mom, Izzy, going to work during her chemo.

Rose rips the wig off and falls to her knees by the couch. “I am so sorry. What an idiot! I didn’t think.” Her voice grows thick with tears for Mel, and for herself for hurting Mel.

“It’s okay,” Mel says, sitting up and hugging Rose awkwardly around the head. “Just kind of … wham! For a minute. When Mom was so sick, she even looked kind of old, her skin all loose like yours. Ghost time, you know?”

“I should have,” Rose says miserably. “I got all caught up in the moment and forgot. Are you really okay?”

“Sure. For a half-orphan, I’m fab.”

“Balderdash,” Rose says.

“Balderdash?” Mel lifts an eyebrow.

Rose gets up, checks her knees for paint smears. “I used to swear like a regular person until you came along and spoiled everything.”

“Mom wouldn’t let you use foul language in front of the child?”