“Mom keeps asking for her,” Dorothy said. “I thought we’d try to cheer her up.”
Nancy waved a folded sheet of construction paper. “I made a card.”
“Grandma will love it.”
I kissed Nancy’s forehead, then Dorothy’s cheek.
“I made a card.”
“Drive safely.”
“We won’t be too late,” Dorothy said, catching the door before it closed and giving me a smile.
I trusted that smile over everything.
I didn’t know I’d soon wish I hadn’t.
“Am I crazy, or is this Nancy?”
Around nine, my phone buzzed. It was my cousin Jason.
“Mark, am I crazy, or is this Nancy? That girl is her spitting image.”
I opened his photograph, then spread two fingers across the screen.
Nancy had both arms around a man’s neck, her mouth open mid-song. His thick beard made him look about Dorothy’s age. One hand supported her back; the other held her close.
“She’s been with this guy the whole concert.”
Jason texted again.
“It’s definitely her. She’s been with this guy the whole concert.”
At school events, Nancy hid behind me when other parents said hello. Yet there she was, wrapped around a complete stranger. Or so I thought.
The first call rang out.
