Adults controlled schedules, meals, needles, school days and hospital visits.
Leo could control his hair.
Growing it was his way of doing something instead of standing helplessly nearby.
And Brenda had taken that choice from him because she disliked the way he looked.
Mark stood slowly.
“Where is my mother?”
“She left after I brought Leo inside.”
His jaw tightened.
He took out his phone.
I stopped him before he dialed.
“Not in front of them.”
He looked at Leo, then at Lily.
His hand dropped.
“You’re right.”
That night we focused on the children.
Lily helped Leo place the surviving curl into the small envelope.
She drew a heart on the outside, then handed it back to him.
“You didn’t break the promise,” she said.
Leo looked unconvinced.
“But my hair’s gone.”
“Grandma cut your hair,” Lily said.
“You didn’t change your mind.
That’s different.”
He considered that carefully.
Then he asked, “Can I grow it again?”
“If you want to,” I said.
He nodded immediately.
“I want to.”
Only after both children were asleep did Mark call Brenda.
He put the phone on speaker because he wanted me to hear exactly what was said.
She answered on the second ring.
“I assume you’ve calmed down by now.”
Mark stared at the wall.
“Why did you take Leo from school?”
“I told them there was a family situation.”
“There wasn’t.”
“There was to me.”
“You were not authorized to pick him up.”
Brenda sighed as though Mark were wasting her time.
“I’m his grandmother.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Oh, please.
You’re acting like I kidnapped him.
I took my grandson for a haircut.”
Mark’s voice became quieter.
That was always when he was angriest.
“Did he tell you not to cut it?”
There was a pause.
“He fussed.”
“Did he say no?”
“Children say no all the time.”
“How many times?”
Brenda’s irritation sharpened.
“I didn’t count.”
“Did he tell you he had a promise?”
Another pause.
