ADVERTISEMENT
She walked in with swollen eyes and twelve crumpled dollars—ten and two ones—clutched in her hand.
"My son's wedding is in a few hours," she whispered. "I don't want to embarrass him. I have twelve dollars."
His cardigan was threadbare, his shoes worn, but his gaze was steady. I put the money aside and pulled out a chair.
"You won't embarrass anyone," I said. "Sit down. I'll take care of you."
I curled her gray hair into soft waves, shaped her eyebrows, applied a light gloss, and dusted her lips with a hint of pink. When I turned her toward the mirror, her mouth trembled.
"Please don't let me be invisible today," she'd said at the beginning.
Now she smiled as if the sun had found her.
She tried to leave the twelve dollars on my counter. I pushed them away.
"Go enjoy your son."
