Chapter 3 - The Wig and the Photograph
The next morning I walked to his daughter's room and knocked softly on the frame. "Julian, could I borrow you for a minute? Out in the hall?"
He glanced at his daughter, then followed me. In the corridor, I held out a box.
"Renata, what is this?"
"Please, open it. It's for you. It will change your life."
He hesitated, studying my face for some clue. Then his fingers found the lid. He lifted it. When he saw what was inside, he went pale and sank into a chair, suddenly looking weak.
"Wait," he said. "Did my daughter tell you?"
Now I was the confused one. "Tell me what?"
His eyes flicked toward the hospital room. "About graduation. About what those kids did."
I shook my head, then reached into the box and slowly drew out the wig. The other object I'd placed inside was still visible, but Julian didn't see it. I lifted the wig and settled it onto my head, the way I once had in a mirror I hated to look at.
"I don't know what happened to your daughter, but I can guess. I know something about being sick and watching your hair fall out."
Julian stared at me. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"You told everyone you liked your new style."
For a second, nothing moved in that hallway. Then his face broke open. "Oh my God," he breathed. "Oh my God, it's you."
"It's me, Julian."
His hand went to his mouth, and the years fell away from him all at once. "I looked for you," he said. "After college, I tried… Oh my God. You kept that wig all this time?"
"I never stopped thinking about what you did," I told him. "I promised myself that if I ever got the chance, I'd find a way to repay you."
His eyes were wet, and he laughed, a shaky, disbelieving sound. "You've been here the whole time and I never even—"
"You had bigger things to worry about," I said gently.
May you like
He looked back toward the room, and something crossed his face that wasn't joy. "She's so much like you were," he said. "Stubborn. Scared. Trying to carry it—"
He stopped, because a figure had appeared in the doorway.
