“It’s not my story to tell.”
That sentence frightened me more than the haircut.
Fifteen minutes later, I was pounding on Linda’s front door.
My mother-in-law opened it calmly.
“What did you do to Emily?”
Linda’s expression changed.
“I didn’t cut her hair.”
“She came home from spending the day with you with almost all her hair gone!”
“I know.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Linda stepped aside.
“You think I did something to her. I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
Her eyes filled.
“Rachel, there’s a school concert tomorrow night.”
I stared at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Come.”
“Linda, my daughter is upstairs crying and refusing to tell me why the hair she loved is suddenly gone.”
