Part 2 — “Ask Grandma”
I was still answering emails when the front door opened shortly after five the next day.
“Emily?” I called from the kitchen. “Did you have fun?”
No answer.
I heard quick footsteps crossing the hallway.
When I stepped out, Emily was already heading upstairs.
And despite the summer heat, she was wearing a huge black hoodie with the hood pulled tightly around her head.
I frowned.
“Emily?”
She stopped.
“Why are you wearing a hoodie? It’s boiling outside.”
“I’m cold.”
Her voice was barely audible.
Then she started climbing again.
Something felt wrong.
“Sweetheart, wait.”
She kept moving.
That was when sunlight from the hallway window caught several tiny brown strands resting on the shoulder of her black sweatshirt.
Hair.
Short pieces of chestnut hair.
My stomach dropped.
“Emily.”
She froze.
I hurried upstairs behind her.
By the time I reached her bedroom, she was sitting on the edge of the mattress with her knees pulled against her chest.
Her hood was still up.
I sat beside her.
“Honey, look at me.”
“Mom, please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t be mad.”
My heart started pounding.
“I’m not mad. I just need to see you.”
Slowly, I reached for the edge of her hood.
She flinched.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Emily?”
After a moment, she gave a tiny nod.
I lowered the hood.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
The long hair I had brushed less than twenty-four hours earlier was gone.
In its place was a very short pixie cut.
It wasn’t ugly.
Under different circumstances, I might even have thought it looked cute.
But all I could remember was Emily sitting between my knees saying, I’m never cutting it.
I felt as though the air had been knocked from my lungs.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
“What happened?”
She looked away.
“Did someone make you do this?”
Silence.
“Emily, please talk to me.”
She wiped her cheek.
“Ask Grandma.”
My confusion instantly turned to anger.
“Grandma?”
Emily nodded.
“What did Linda do?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why am I supposed to ask her?”
Emily hugged her knees tighter.
“Because I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
Her voice cracked.
“Because it isn’t only my story.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head.
“Please, Mom. Just ask Grandma.”
Within minutes, I had grabbed my purse and car keys.
I barely remembered driving to Linda’s house.
All I could see was Emily’s frightened face.
All I could think was that someone had taken something from my daughter that she had treasured for years.
And Linda knew why.
When Linda opened her front door, I didn’t even say hello.
“What happened to Emily’s hair?”
Her face changed immediately.
“Rachel—”
“Did you let someone cut it?”
She stepped backward.
“Come inside.”
“I don’t want to come inside. I want an answer.”
Linda stared at me for a long moment.
Then she quietly said, “You think I did this to her.”
“She spent the day with you. She came home crying with almost no hair. What exactly am I supposed to think?”
Linda’s eyes glistened.
“I didn’t hurt Emily.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“I can’t.”
I almost laughed.
“You can’t?”
“She needs to tell you herself.”
“She’s twelve!”
“I know.”
“She loved her hair!”
“I know that too.”
My voice rose.
“Then why are you protecting whoever did this?”
Linda’s expression hardened.
“I’m not protecting anyone who hurt her.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Linda took a slow breath.
“There’s a choir concert tomorrow night.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Six o’clock. At Emily’s school.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Be there.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You’re giving me a concert schedule when I’m asking what happened to my daughter?”
“No. I’m telling you where you need to be.”
“Linda—”
“Rachel, if I explain tonight, all you’ll hear is that Emily cut her hair.”
Her voice softened.
“But you need to understand why.”
I folded my arms.
“She is my daughter.”
“I know.”
Something changed in Linda’s face.
Sadness.
Maybe even frustration.
“And tomorrow, she’s going to stand in front of an entire auditorium and do something that scares her.”
Then Linda said something that lodged itself painfully inside me.
“For once, Rachel, don’t let me tell you about an important moment afterward.”
I stopped breathing.
For once.
The words hurt because they were true.
I tried to remember the last school performance I had attended from beginning to end.
I couldn’t.
There had always been a meeting.
A client.
A deadline.
An emergency.
Linda opened the door again.
“Be there tomorrow.”
This time, I had no argument.
For illustrative purposes only
