“Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
Then I saw them.
Tiny brown hairs were scattered across the shoulder of her sweatshirt.
My stomach tightened.
“Tessa.”
She went completely still.
“Take the hood down.”
Her eyes filled immediately.
“Mom, please.”
I walked closer.
“Whatever happened, you’re not in trouble.”
“You’ll be mad.”
“At you?”
She didn’t answer.
I sat beside her.
“Tess, please.”
For several seconds, she just stared at her hands.
Then she slowly reached up, loosened the strings, and pushed the hood back.
I actually stopped breathing.
Her hair was gone.
Not cut to her shoulders.
Not even cut into a bob.
The hair that had hung past her hips the night before had been chopped into a short pixie cut around her ears.
It wasn’t perfectly even either. Some pieces were slightly shorter than others, as if the stylist had been working with very little room.
“Oh my God.”
Tessa looked away.
“What happened?”
“Mom—”
“Who did this?”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Please don’t freak out.”
“Tessa, you cried last year because I trimmed too much off one side. You wouldn’t even let me take an inch. Now all of it is gone.”
She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Ask Grandma.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Just ask Grandma.”
“Did Grandma make you cut it?”
“No.”
“Did somebody do something to you?”
Tessa squeezed her eyes shut.
“I can’t tell you.”
My chest went cold.
“What do you mean you can’t tell me?”
“It’s not only my story.”
That sentence scared me more than the haircut.
Ten minutes later, I was in my car.
I don’t even remember the drive to Nadine’s house.
I only remember knocking on her door so hard that my palm hurt.
When she opened it, I didn’t give her time to say hello.
“What happened to Tessa?”
Nadine’s face changed.
“You saw.”
“Of course I saw! She came home hiding under a hood like she’d done something terrible.”
“Marla—”
“Her hair is gone.”
“I know.”
“What did you do?”
Nadine stared at me.
For some reason, the fact that she didn’t defend herself immediately made me even angrier.
“What did you do to my daughter?”
“I didn’t cut her hair.”
“But you were with her.”
“Yes.”
“And she told me to ask you.”
Nadine sighed and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her.
“She asked me not to explain it.”
“She’s twelve.”
“I know how old she is.”
“Then stop treating this like some secret between the two of you.”
Nadine’s expression tightened.
“It isn’t a secret against you.”
“It certainly feels like one.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Nadine said quietly, “There’s a choir performance tomorrow night.”
I stared at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Come.”
“Nadine.”
“Come to the performance.”
“I have work.”
The moment the words left my mouth, something flickered across her face.
Not anger.
Disappointment.
