push-ups and run laps, honest?”
Joanna smiled. “Girl Scout’s honor,” she said.
“That’s no fair,” Jenny grumbled. “I always thought that when you got to be a grown-up, people couldn’t make you do stuff you didn’t want to do.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Joanna agreed.
Suddenly Jenny scrambled off the bed and charged over to her suitcase. “I brought something along that I forgot to show you.”
After pawing through her clothing, Jenny came back and sat down on the edge of her mother’s bed. She was carrying two pictures. “Look at this,” she said, handing them over to Joanna. “See what Grandpa found?”
One was the picture of Joanna taken by her father, the one in her Brownie uniform. The second photo, although much newer and in color, was very similar to the first one. It was a picture of Jennifer Ann Brady, dressed in a much newer version of a Brownie uniform, and standing at attention near the right front bumper of her mother’s bronze-colored Eagle. In the black-and-white photo, a nine-year Joanna Lathrop posed in front of Eleanor Lathrop’s white Maverick. In both pictures the foreground was occupied by the same sturdy, twenty-five-year-old Radio Flyer, and in both pictures the wagon was loaded down with cartons of Girl Scout cookies.
As soon as she saw the two pictures side by side, Joanna burst out laughing. “I guess pictures like that are part of a time-honored tradition,” she said, handing them back to Jenny. “Where did you get the second one?”
“Grandpa Brady got it from Grandma Lathrop.”
“That figures,” Joanna said. “She probably has drawers full of them. I’ll bet somebody takes a new picture like that every single Girl Scout cookie season.”
Jenny didn’t seem to be listening. She was holding the two pictures up to the light, examining in them closely. “Grandma Brady thinks I look just like you did when you were a girl,” Jenny said. “What do you think?”
Joanna took the pictures back and studied them for herself. It was easy to forget that she, too, had been a towheaded little kid once upon a time. The red hadn’t started showing up in her hair until fourth or fifth grade—about the same time as that first traumatic haircut. This picture must have dated from third grade or so since Joanna’s hair still hung down over her shoulders in two long braids.
“Grandma Brady’s right,” Joanna said. “You can tell we’re related.”
“Yes, you can,” Jenny agreed.
“Did I ever tell you about the first time Grandma Lathrop took me out for my first haircut?” Joanna asked.
Jenny frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, get back in your bed,” Joanna ordered. “It’s about time you heard the story of your mother and the pixie.”
“I know all about pixies,” Jenny said confidently. “They’re kind of like fairies, aren’t they? So, is this a true story or pretend?”
“This is another kind of pixie,” Joanna said. “And it’s true, all right. Believe me, it’s not the kind of story I’d make up. And who knows, once you hear it, maybe it’ll make you feel better about what happened to you when Grandma Lathrop took you to see Helen Barco.”
Joanna told her haircut story
