HARPER STUDIED HER REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR AND THEN REACHED around the edge of the hairdresser’s cape to wipe away a bead of water that was trickling down her cheek. “I think I’d like it cut really short.”
“How short?” Janelle asked, dabbing her cheek with a towel.
Harper looked at one of the pictures on the wall. “Like that,” she said, pointing to a picture of a girl with a pixie cut.
“That’s pretty short, hon,” Janelle said, frowning, but seeing the disappointment on Harper’s face, added, “but I bet it’d look real cute on you.”
Harper turned her head, trying to imagine how she’d look with short hair. “What do you think, Cora?”
“I think you should get your hair cut any way you like, baby, but you need to decide soon because we have a doctor’s appointment in . . .” She trailed off as she glanced at her watch. “One hour.”
“Just like that then,” Harper confirmed, nodding toward the picture again.
As Janelle combed out her long hair, Lana, the stylist cutting an older woman’s hair in the next chair, looked over. “Your hair is such a beautiful color, you should consider donating it.”
Harper frowned. “Donating it?”
“Mm-hmm . . .”
Janelle nodded. “That’s a good idea!” Then she looked at Cora. “Cora, this is Lana. She just moved into our complex, and she has a little girl, Kari, who’s the same age as Rudy, and a little boy, Kayden, who’s the same age as Joe.”
Cora smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Lana. Maybe we can get our kids together sometime.”
“That would be nice,” Lana said. “They need someone to play with so I can get them outside and outta my hair!” She turned back to Harper. “Anyway, child, there are quite a few organizations like Locks of Love that make hair pieces for kids who’ve lost their hair.”
“Why have they lost their hair?”
“Mostly because of medical reasons.”
Harper considered for a brief second. “What do you think, Cora?”
“I think it’s up to you, baby.”
“I’ll do it!” Harper said, a smile lighting her face.
“This child’s going to donate her beautiful hair to Locks of Love!” Janelle announced, and all the other stylists and patrons stopped their chattering and cheered.
Harper smiled shyly and felt her cheeks get warm as Janelle reached for her hair dryer. She gently brushed out Harper’s silky hair. “You definitely do not have a rat’s nest, child—I don’t know what that lady was talking about. You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of hair! It just needs a little TLC.”
“What’s TLC?”
“Tender loving care,” Janelle said, gently braiding Harper’s hair and putting a hair band around it.
“Last chance, now. You sure?” she asked, reaching for her scissors. “Because once I start, there’s no turning ’round, and it’ll take a year to grow back.”
“I’m sure,” Harper said, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling the gentle tug on her head as Janelle started to cut. A few seconds later, she held the ponytail up for everyone to see. “Look at this beautiful ponytail some little redhead’s going to get!”
“That is one gorgeous ponytail,” Lana said, smiling and winking at Harper.
Everyone cheered again, and Harper opened her eyes and tried to picture a little kid wearing a wig made from her hair. The idea made her feel oddly warm inside, and she smiled. “Maybe I’ll grow it so I can donate again.”
Cora smiled to herself. This poor little girl—who has nothing and no one—is still willing to give what she can. She might be a scrappy, foul-mouthed tomboy on the outside, but inside, she has a good heart.
Janelle adjusted her glasses and got to work, snipping, trimming, eyeing, and snipping some more, and all the time, humming. “Where were all those pictures taken?” Harper asked, looking at the photos tucked into the frame of her mirror.
“Tha’s my home,” Janelle said, and then she started to softly sing the lyrics to the song she’d been humming—“Jamaican Farewell.”
Harper listened to the words and smiled. “You’re a good singer.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you ever go to Jamaica?”
“Not as often as I’d like. See that picture there?” She pointed to a photograph of two young men wearing shorts and flip-flops with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.
Harper nodded.
“Those are my babies. Ma boys!”
“How come they’re in Jamaica and you’re here?” Harper asked.
“Oh, it’s just the way things worked out,” Janelle said with a sigh as she dried and brushed Harper’s hair. She paused. “So what do you think?” She turned the chair so Harper could see her reflection.
“Wow,” Harper said softly. “I look totally different.” She turned her head and reached up to touch her hair. “I love it! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome, child. I’m glad you love it.”
“Cora and Miss Lana, what do you think?”
Cora smiled and nodded. “It looks real nice.”
“It looks real cute!” Lana said, giving her a thumbs-up.
“Thanks! Wait till Rudy sees me,” Harper mused, turning her head again.
“She probably won’t recognize you,” Cora said with a chuckle.
Janelle smiled, lightly fluffing her handiwork and unsnapping the cape. “Now we can see your ears, so you’ll have to get your ears pierced and pick out some cute earrings.”
“Ooh! Can I?” Harper asked hopefully, looking at Cora.
“One thing at a time,” Cora said, reaching into her bag.
Janelle looked up, saw her friend pulling out her wallet, and shook her head. “Oh, no . . . There’s no charge for donations to Locks of Love,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Cora asked, frowning.
“I am positive,” Janelle replied, folding the cape and laying it on the chair. “Now, scoot or you’ll be late for your doctor’s appointment.”
“Well, please take a tip,” Cora insisted, trying to press a bill into her hand.
“No, no,” Janelle said, pulling her hand away and reaching for her broom. “I’ll see you later.”
Cora sighed. “I’ll get you back.”
“You can try,” Janelle said, chuckling.
“Don’t even,” Lana said, laughing.
Twenty minutes later, Cora and Harper were sitting in the waiting room of the Children’s Heart Center and Cora was bent over a clipboard, filling out paperwork.
“How’d you get today off?” Harper asked, leaning back in her chair and touching her head—which felt lighter.
“I told ’em they are just going to have to manage without me,” Cora answered as she checked boxes. “I don’t know half the answers to these questions,” she said with a sigh. “When’s your birthday again, baby?”
“March first,” Harper said, fiddling with a loose thread on her chair. She looked around the busy waiting room. “Look, Cora, they have one of those coffeemakers—just like Janelle has in her salon.”
“Mm-hmm,” Cora murmured distractedly.
“Do you want me to fix you a cup?” Harper asked hopefully.
Cora, absorbed in her task and searching through her bag for Harper’s insurance information, didn’t hear the question.
“Can I make a cup?” Harper repeated, sitting on the edge of her seat, but Cora still didn’t answer, so she stood up. “I’m just gonna make one,” she said softly, hoping Cora wouldn’t say no. She walked across the room to the coffee machine and then glanced back to see if she’d noticed, but Cora was still engrossed in her paperwork, so Harper turned to the display rack and looked at the flavors. Finally, she reached for a pod, dropped it into the coffeemaker, and clicked it closed. She positioned a paper coffee cup under the dispenser, and pushed BREW, and the coffeemaker spritzed to life, spilling out a stream of dark coffee. Harper tore open three sugar packets, dumped them in, and then added a generous amount of cream. She gingerly took a sip, hoping it wasn’t too hot, licked her lips approvingly, and walked over to look at the fish tank. She lightly tapped the glass near an orange-and-white clown fish.
“Hey, Nemo,” she said softly. Just then a blue-and-yellow surgeonfish emerged from behind a treasure chest. “Dory!” she squeaked, almost spilling the coffee.
Cora looked up, saw the cup in Harper’s hand, and frowned. “What are you drinking?”
Harper looked down as if she didn’t know what Cora was talking about. “This?” she asked innocently. “I told you I was making it. I made it for you—just the way you like it—light and sweet.”
Cora eyed her suspiciously, and Harper handed it to her.
“Here,” she said. “See if it’s all right.”
Cora took a sip and smiled. “Mmm . . . it’s perfect. Thank you.”
Harper sat down next to her and nodded. “It’s called Donut Shop.”
The door to the waiting room opened, and a physician’s assistant holding an iPad surveyed the waiting room. Finally, her eyes settled on Harper. “Harper Wheaton?”
Harper nodded, wishing her heart would stop racing, and reached for Cora’s hand.