She was partial to lean wigs. The radiation had taken half the hair on her head. Her husband Ross had shaved the rest for her, giving her pointers about how to use his electric razor as clumps of her auburn hair fell to the tile. Ellyn visited the wig shop almost weekly, hoping to find a wig that made her feel beautiful. The false volume of the shop wigs bothered her, the hair thick and coarse and shaped as if directed toward a wind machine. Upturned bangs and unnatural curls. Thick, unmovable shags.