“And?”
“And there was never anything,” Graham said. “Not once. Eight years. He treats her exactly like a brother treats a sister. He teases her. He protects her. He grows his hair out for eighteen months for her and says she’s gross when anybody asks if he likes her.” He laughed, and his eyes filled up. “I think some part of him always knew. Some part of both of them.”
I thought about Wyatt at twelve. Mom. Gross. She’s Harper.
“The wig,” I said suddenly. “Crowned for Courage. They said somebody paid to put her at the front of the line.”
“Eighteen hundred dollars,” Graham said. “I couldn’t grow the hair. I could do that.”
We sat there on the steps for a long time.
“I lied to him too,” I said finally.
Graham looked at me.
“When he was nine, he asked me about his dad. Kids at school were doing family trees. I told him his father was a man I’d dated for a little while who wasn’t ready to be a dad. I told him the man moved away.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I didn’t want him to grow up thinking he came out of a catalog. Donor number 4471. I wanted him to have a story with a person in it.”
