In his little fist, he was clutching something curled and blond.
One of his curls.
The rest of them were gone.
All those soft golden spirals that bounced against his forehead and ears had been shaved down into a choppy, uneven buzz cut.
It was so rough I could see where the clippers had bitten too close in one spot above his temple.
Whatever Brenda had done, she hadn’t taken him to a barber who
cared.
It looked rushed.
It looked angry.
“Leo, baby, what happened?” I asked, though I already knew.
His mouth trembled.
“Grandma cut it, Mommy.”
Brenda stepped out from the driver’s side with the air of a woman delivering groceries.
“There,” she said, brushing her palms together.
“Now he looks like a real boy.
You can thank me later.”
I remember the rush of heat in my face and the cold in my hands at the same time.
