Grandma sets her fork down. Her expression is a strange mix of pride and sadness as she looks at Shelly across the table. “Okay. Get the scissors from my sewing kit and we’ll get started.”

Shelly grabs Grandma’s little silver scissors and they go outside to sit on the front step. It’s late enough in the year and early enough in the day that it’s still kind of dark out. The sky is pink-purple-red as the sun comes up. It’s pretty, and Shelly watches the sunrise while Grandma combs her long hair out one last time.

Grandma gathers Shelly’s hair into little ponytails and cuts them off carefully, her touch gentle, and hands Shelly each lock of hair as she goes, until they’re all gone.

Shelly shivers when the evening wind brushes her neck, and shakes out her newly shorn hair, feeling the crisp ends brush against her skin. All the things she’s been carrying with her are still there, but they seem lighter now. Easier.

Shelly winds the strands of her hair around and around her hand. There’s so much that isn’t attached to her the same way anymore, and now she can’t fish for ghosts as she walks the street. She can’t load her shoulders with the weight of their lives. She can’t kidnap anybody from a graveyard. As much as she might want to, she can’t chase her mother’s ghost. She has to admit to herself now that her mom wouldn’t want her to.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she says, looking up at Grandma.

“You have your mother’s temper,” Grandma replies, smiling at her. “She’d be proud of you for telling me exactly how you were feeling. It’s okay, Shelly. I’m sorry I didn’t see what you were doing. I promise to listen better in the future.”

Grandma touches Shelly’s hair, brushing her fingers through it. “I used to cut your mother’s hair for her too, when she was little,” she says. “She never wanted to catch ghosts. She always said if she spent all her time hunting them, she’d never have time to do anything else. When she had you, she cut it short again. She said taking care of you was more important than taking care of the dead. She said she let it grow out again because keeping it short was too much trouble. I think she liked the idea of being able to help you if you needed her to.” Grandma’s voice is sad, but her hands are steady.