“A girl in my class needs a wig.”
Luis nodded. “Yes, sweetie. I worked with him for eight years.”
She touched the blunt ends of her hair. “He would’ve liked this haircut?”
Teresa snorted. “No decent man would support a bathroom haircut, my girl.”
“Mama,” Letty whined.
“But,” Teresa added, softening, “he would’ve loved the reason for it.”
Luis leaned against the station and looked at Letty. “Your dad couldn’t stand seeing people suffer alone. It drove him crazy.”
“He would’ve loved the reason for it.”
Letty looked down at her hands. “Millie tried to act like she didn’t care, but she did.”
“Of course she did, baby,” I said.
Teresa stayed late. Between fixing my daughter’s hair and matching hair already set aside for pediatric wigs, she managed to finish one by the next morning.
***
Before school, Letty and I picked up the wig.
“Do I look weird, Mom?”
“You look like yourself,” I said. “Just with less maintenance.”
“Of course she did, baby.”
That got a smile out of her.
Then she lifted the box a little. “Do you think Millie will actually wear it?”
“I’m not sure, baby. It might be uncomfortable for her. But even if she chooses not to, she’ll know how brave and kind you are.”
***
Two hours later, Principal Brennan had called.
By the time I reached the school, my palms were damp against the steering wheel.
Mr. Brennan was already outside the office.
“What is this?” I asked. “Who are these people?”
