I reach up and inspect the top of her forehead with my finger, lightly sliding it over her skin. “Is your head okay?”
She palms her hair out of the way. “Yeah. I do not care about losing a few hairs.”
“I’ve always really liked your hair.”
She scoffs. “Thanks.”
“I have. I do.”
“You only like it because you don’t have to deal with it. If you had it, trust me, you’d hate it.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Do you realize that, traditionally, redheads were supremely hated? In some ancient European folk beliefs, if a couple gave birth to a ginger child, they were thought to be cursed, that it was a sign they were being punished for something. Ancient Greeks and Romans called redheads ‘barbarians’ in some contexts.” She laughs. “We’ve been looked down upon and blamed for millennia.” She scoots away from the new opening in the porch wall. “Trust me, you don’t want red hair.”
“But I think it’s really pretty.”
She looks like she’s going to disagree with me again, but then she just waves me away. “Okay.” She studies her hands.
“I can tell you don’t believe me.”
“I guess we all just want what we can’t have. I used to dye my hair. Like dark brown or auburn. I even went blonde once. It was great, until it wasn’t.”
“What happened?”
“I suddenly developed an allergic reaction to the dye.” She shakes her head. “I have the worst luck. And it’s a little isolating being the only ginger in my family. Maddy can tan. She gets all glowy and golden in the summer. I just get more freckles, andthere’s certainly not a tan underneath those sunshine kisses. I’m either white as a sheet with brown speckles everywhere, or I’m fried red.”
“Yeah, you don’t tan, but that doesn’t mean you’re less attractive.”
Her eyebrows raise and her chin wobbles the tiniest amount, and she swallows hard.
“For the record,” she says, “I learned my lesson early on and now coat myself with sunscreen multiple times a day. Thankfully I haven’t had a sunburn in years. But still, that’s only because I’m unhealthily attached to my sunscreen. I kid you not, I buy it in bulk.”
“I’m glad it works to protect you.” I hold up my hands. “All I’m saying is, I really do love your hair.”
“Thanks,” she says quietly.
To mitigate some of the sudden awkwardness at my boldness, I look again at the forum. “Hey, we’ve gotten some responses.”
“What do they say?”
I laugh. “Most of them are just commiserating with us. But someone suggested prying off a section of wood from the porch.”
“Check! You already did that.”
“See? We already know how to be good pet owners.”
She smiles. “Totally.”
“Someone suggested singing him a lullaby to lure him out of there.”
“Ha! I am completely tone-deaf,” she says. “But you’re welcome to give it a try.”
I begin with the first song that comes to my head, in the lowest, most calm voice I can imagine.
Charlotte bursts out laughing.
“Shhh!” I toss her a look. “I’m trying to lure him out of there.”
