I winced.
“Right.”
He gave me a tired smile.
“She wasn’t angry at any of you. She just knew we’d all become experts at being busy.”
“She should’ve threatened us,” Jake said. “That woman could scare a confession out of a parking meter.”
Daniel laughed wetly.
“Remember how she made us eat after we shaved our heads?” I asked.
“Three sandwiches each,” Ryan said. “Apparently baldness burns calories.”
Daniel reached into his jacket.
“When I was clearing her house, I found something.”
He put a photograph on the table.
Four bald boys.
Four enormous grins.
Margaret had written the date on the back.
Underneath it, “My boys.”
I swallowed.
“She kept that?”
“On her dresser. All 17 years.”
Then Daniel unfolded a letter.
“I always thought she cried that morning because of what you did.”
He stared at the page.
“But she’d just come back from talking to my doctor. The treatment wasn’t working the way they’d hoped. They were discussing what to try next.”
The whole room seemed to shrink.
“She didn’t tell me,” he said. “Not then. She thought I needed hope more than another frightening conversation.”
I remembered Margaret’s face in the doorway.
Her hands over her mouth.
The way she’d held us.
I’d thought we’d made her happy.
We had.
But that wasn’t all.
“She wrote that seeing us reminded her I still had things to live for,” Daniel said.
Ryan lowered his eyes.
Daniel looked toward him.
A look passed between them.
Quick.
Uneasy.
I noticed.
Something was going on between those two, but I couldn’t figure out what.
Before I could ask, dinner arrived.
Hardly anyone touched it.
Instead, I picked up the photograph again.
I turned it over.
“We were awful-looking.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jake said. “I was magnificent.”
Ryan smiled without looking up.
I studied the picture.
He stood between us, hoodie tied around his waist.
“You wouldn’t take that thing off for weeks,” I said.
Ryan stopped smiling.
“What thing?”
“Your gray hoodie. Remember? Even when it was hot.”
Jake leaned over.
“And you demanded the first turn with the clippers. Practically tackled Ethan for them.”
“I had excellent instincts about his barbering skills,” Ryan said.
We laughed.
Ryan didn’t.
Daniel set down his fork.
“Ry, you don’t have to.”
I looked between them.
“Don’t have to what?”
Ryan rubbed both hands over his face.
“Daniel called me before tonight,” he said. “He found another letter. One his mom wrote for me. He asked if I wanted it privately.”
“And?” Jake asked gently.
“I said I’d come. That I’d tell you myself, if I could.”
The laughter disappeared.
Ryan studied his plate.
“My stepdad cut my hair before we shaved it.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Not a haircut. A punishment. I argued with him about how he treated my mom. He grabbed some scissors and hacked a patch off near the back.”
I could hear restaurant voices outside our door.
Somebody laughing.
Glasses clinking.
Inside, nobody spoke.
“I wore the hoodie because I didn’t want anyone seeing,” Ryan continued. “When Jake suggested shaving our heads, I thought…”
He breathed out.
“The morning after he did it, I tried fixing the patch with kitchen scissors. Made it worse. Mom cried when she saw me. I told her it was fine.”
His face tightened.
“It wasn’t fine. But Daniel was sick, and you two were so excited about doing something good. I couldn’t stand the idea of spoiling it.”
He glanced at his hands.
“I could finally stop hiding mine.”
My fingers went cold.
I pictured Ryan in my bathroom.
Get it over with.
I’d thought he was fearless.
He’d been desperate.
“I wanted to help Daniel,” he said quickly. “That part was real. Both things were real.”
“We know,” Daniel said.
I remembered laughing as I guided the clippers across Ryan’s scalp.
Had I noticed the uneven patch?
Yes.
For half a second.
I’d assumed he’d botched a trim himself.
“Ryan,” I whispered, “why didn’t you tell us?”
He shrugged.
“Because we were 13. Because I thought it was my job to keep everyone from finding out. Pick one.”
