“Are you going to give me bangs?”
“I’m thinking poodle cut.”
“I like poodles,” he said. She was relieved he had a sense of humor about the whole thing. All she wanted was to do a decent enough job that he didn’t cry when he looked at himself in the mirror. She never had to worry about that with the dogs.
“So…” she said as she started running her fingers through his hair, trying to figure out her plan of attack, “do I call you Ralph or Rafe? Or Mr. Howell?”
“Mr. Howell’s my father. You can call me Rafe. I like it better than Ralph.”
“Who wouldn’t? Sorry, that wasn’t nice. Did Jeremy tell you I have trouble self-censoring? Can you soak your hair now?”
“I guessed.” Rafe turned the shower on. “I’m going to take my shirt off. Don’t freak out.”
“I can handle seeing a shirtless guy without fainting,” she said, rolling her eyes. Men. In the medicine cabinet mirror, she saw Rafe raise his eyebrows. Then he pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it on the floor.
She didn’t scream, but she did gasp. “Oh my God.”
“Warned you.” Rafe stuck his head under the hot water. She turned around and stared, scissors and comb and haircut forgotten.
On his back, between his shoulder blades, were pale pink scars, lots of them. Thin and long and nasty-looking. They were healed, but still…
“What happened?”
“No idea. Happened when we were lost in the Crow. Bobcat, maybe? Or not. Jeremy says he doesn’t even know.”
“I…I’ve seen a lot of dog scratches and cat scratches. Even big ones. That’s not…that is not that.”
“Barbed-wire fence? Fell on something?” His voice was muffled with his head hanging upside down. She wanted to touch the scars but didn’t dare. They reminded her of something, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.
“You really don’t remember getting those?”
She was scared just looking at them. What was out in the woods?
“No.”
He sounded casual about the whole thing, too casual. He sounded like someone trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered by his inability to remember what he’d suffered to end up with those scars.
He turned off the water and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.
“You ready?” he said.
That was a clear hint he wanted to change the subject.
“If you are.”
“I am. Maybe.”
“You can hold Fritz if it would help.”
He laughed a little. “Sure.”
She gently scooped Fritz out of her hoodie pocket and passed him to Rafe. She watched for a second, making sure he wouldn’t drop him or anything, but Fritz sniffed his hands and nibbled his beard.
“You hate the beard too, buddy?” Rafe asked him.
“He chews everything,” she said. “But yes, he does hate the beard. He told me so.”
Rafe lightly rubbed Fritz’s head and ears. Emilie was starting to warm up to Rafe, though he still made her nervous enough that she regretted volunteering for this mission. Too late now.
She clipped a bath towel around his shoulders and ran her comb through his straw-colored hair.
“I’ll just take off a few inches. Nothing drastic, okay?”
“The shorter it is, the happier Mom will be.”
“Is she super strict or something?”
“Nah. She’d be okay if she thought I was growing my hair long because I wanted it long. She thinks the hair and the beard are a cry for help.”
“No comment.”
Rafe lifted Fritz, so they made eye contact. Or as much eye contact as you could make with a sniffing, shuffling, wriggling fancy rat. “Your mother’s a little rude.”
“Don’t listen to him, baby. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You can put him in the tub to run around. He needs the exercise.”
“Sure,” Rafe said and gently sat Fritz in the empty bathtub, where he proceeded to run tiny rat laps.
“Ready?”
