He never cheered. He never came down. When the game ended, he left before anybody could talk to him.
Always watching my son.
Always a second too long.
When it was finally long enough, I called a nonprofit that makes custom wigs for kids going through treatment. Crowned for Courage, in the next town over. They said they could match the hair to Harper’s color and make it the same length as her old braid.
I mailed them a photo of Harper’s old braid and a lock of Wyatt’s hair in a plastic bag.
“Easiest color match I’ve ever made,” the woman said when she called back. “Same exact shade. Down to the red underneath.”
They usually had a wait of six months.
They had it ready in two weeks.
“That’s fast,” I said to the woman on the phone.
“We had a donation come in,” she said. “Somebody asked us to put Harper at the front of the line.”
