“Why are you just standing there with the bottle open in your hand?” Gillian jumped. Clumsy with jet lag, she fumbled at the little blue vial of Je Reviens, spilling some on her fingers. Her mother raised her eyebrows. “I would like a spot. That is, if there’s any left.” Gillian wiped her fingers, dipped the stopper back into its bottle, and touched the bulbous end behind each of her mother’s earlobes. “Now put a little rouge on my face, there’s a good girl, and do my hair for me, would you?” Quirking her mouth at the idea of being a girl at fifty-five, good or otherwise, Gillian smoothed the peachy powder onto her mother’s cheeks, and fluffed up the sparse white curls. At a nod she applied a touch of lipstick. Her mother rubbed her lips together and studied her reflection in the hand mirror Gillian held for her. “Isn’t she wonderful, at her age, to take such care of her appearance!”
