Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

murmured sleepily. ‘Too wild. Won’t behave. Stupid chemo.’
    Like waves on a wind-tossed sea. He ran his fingers through the misbehaving locks, enjoying the haphazard way they winged this way and that, as well as the knowledge that he was seeing a Daphne that no one else got to see. Mine alone . ‘ What was it like before?’
    She was quiet for a moment. ‘Smooth and pretty,’ she said, awake now. ‘But I lost it all. I hated the surgeries, the reconstruction. I hated losing my breasts, but to look in the mirror and be bald . . . I think I hated that more.’
    ‘So you started wearing the wigs then.’
    ‘Yes. And I found they did more than hide my bald head. They let me be someone else. For twelve years I’d had Nadine saying an Elkhart does not do this or that. Elkharts don’t swear, they are not loud, they wear respectable clothing. I wanted to do the opposite, so I looked for the biggest, Dolly Parton-est wig I could find and wore it to every single divorce settlement meeting. Nadine was appalled. Ap palled , I tell you. It was worth every penny.’
    He smiled at the smug satisfaction in her voice. ‘I bet it was. But why did you keep wearing them? Once your hair grew back, I mean.’
    ‘At first, because I hated the new color.’
    ‘It changed?’
    ‘Did it ever. Before the chemo my hair was like cornsilk, white blonde and smooth. When it came back in, it was reddish-brown, this really ugly, muddy color, and really curly. Much curlier than this. And coarse. I’d read about the possibility of color changes so I expected it to be different, but not like that. I cried all the time. Finally Mama and Maggie told me to just keep wearing the wigs. So I did. Eventually it lightened a little, enough to color it blonde. Over time, it got better, softer. Like it is now.’
    ‘Then why keep wearing the wigs?’
    ‘Some of it’s convenience. It takes a lot of work to get this hair the way I want it to look for court, and sometimes it doesn’t behave at all. The wigs are a lot faster and that gives me more time for riding in the morning.’
    His brows lifted. ‘I like riding in the morning.’
    She frowned, then snickered when she caught his innuendo. ‘I bet you do.’
    ‘If convenience is some of it, what’s the rest?’
    She lifted one shoulder in a self-conscious shrug. ‘By the time it started to come back in, I was in law school and people were used to seeing me in the wigs. If I took them off, they would know I’d been wearing one all along. I didn’t want the questions. I didn’t want to call any attention to myself.’
    He blinked in disbelief. ‘Daphne, you wore a neon green miniskirt and Dolly Parton hair the day I met you. You love calling attention to yourself. But maybe you just like to control the kind of attention you draw.’
    Her eyes widened, startled. ‘I hadn’t thought about it that way. I guess that’s true. But it still looks like I stuck my finger into a light socket.’
    ‘It does not. In fact, the curls are gone now that it’s dry, which is too bad because I liked them. I guess I’ll just have to think of ways to keep you all wet.’
    She smiled. ‘I have every confidence in your creativity.’
    ‘Daphne, your hair is beautiful because it’s yours. It wouldn’t matter to me how it looked. You might wish it looked different, more like it did before, and I understand that. But to me, every misbehaving wave is proof that you’re still here. Same goes for the scars. You fought cancer and you won. They’re like . . . badges of courage.’
    She pushed up on her elbow to study his face, her eyes soft. ‘You’re a sentimental fool, aren’t you?’
    ‘Just telling the truth.’
    ‘We’ll see how you feel come summer,’ she said with a yawn. ‘The humidity makes these “badges of courage” so damn frizzy, I turn into Bozo the Clown.’
    She was already thinking about summer. His heart squeezed hard. The last time he’d planned more than a few weeks out with any woman had been Jo.
    I’m happy . How long had it been since he’d thought those two words? Same answer. Not since Jo. I’m holding on to this one . Nobody will take her away from me . Not Beckett, not Doug, not Millhouse. Nobody.
    He stroked her back until her breathing evened out and she fell asleep. Then he slid out from underneath her, covering her up. He pulled on his jeans and plucked his laptop from the floor.
    On his screen were the results of the search he’d started for Wilson