“Is this your hair?”
I look closer at the hair. It’s pin-straight and brown.
“Have you seen my hair?”
I hold up a few strands, showcasing the tight tendrils from my thick head of hair.
“What about your mom?”
“She also has curly hair, and wouldn’t it be weird if he kept a lock of her hair?”
“Maybe.” Valentina pauses. “Unless it was her first haircut since moving to the country. That would be a cute memento.”
“You’re probably right, but it’s not her hair either. But it could be either a child’s or a woman’s hair from when they came to the country.”
“So if it’s a woman’s hair, a lover, if you will—”
“I will not,” I insist.
“—then it could be either Mariposa, Maritza, or Rosita. We’ve already ruled out your mom. So Rosita or Maritza.”
“Or someone we don’t even know,” I note.
“Correct, but unlikely. We’re Latino. We know everyone in the New Jersey area. I doubt he was having an affair with some random person and kept a lock of their hair in his journal for years.”
“Okay, fair,” I say. “If it’s a child’s hair, it’s either from me, Silvana, or Sofia.”
“What about Maria, Yolanda, and Araceli?”
I shake my head. “They were already older by then. Like, practically teenagers. The note about it being the first haircut? That’s obviously the kind of thing you say about a toddler or a little kid. And the hair is so fine—like baby hair. Plus Silvana and Sofia are both the closest to my age. It wouldn’t make sense for it to belong to an older cousin.”
“That makes sense,” Valentina says.
“And we know it’s not me,” I add. “I have baby pictures of me with hair so curly I looked like a little grandma with a perm. So it’s Silvana or Sofia. But why?”
“That’s the second thing we’d need to find out. For now, let’s try and find out who it belongs to and get this dreadful activity-filled day over with.”
I stuff the lock of hair into my bra, making Valentina chuckle. We grab our boards and join the group.
“How cold do you think that water is?” I ask, remembering the scene fromTitanic.
“Probably the same as a few hours ago,” Valentina says.
“Morning, prima,” Sofia says. She and Luciano wave as we approach them.
She looks so effortlessly bridal in her white one-piece and matching cover-up. Luciano looks like a Greek statue come to life. If you looked up the definition of a power couple, I’m almost entirely sure it would just be a photo of Sofia and Luciano wearing these outfits.
“Hey! Paddleboarding, huh?”
“Yeah! This will be fun,” Sofia says, beaming.
“Have you ever done it?” I asked.
“Would you be shocked if I said no? I was too scared to do it with the other campers when I was younger, so I’d sit it out. I always wanted to, though. Have you?”
“I’ve done it once or twice, actually,” I lie.
The second the words come out of my mouth, I instantly regret it. I can’t stop it—like word vomit.
