“We are just looking for a name, Sophie,” I said, though my throat felt dry as the dust on the storage boxes behind us.
dddd
“Do you think she ever looked for us?” Sophie asked, her fingers tracing the edge of the cardboard box.
“She didn’t leave a note, Sophie,” I said, folding the pass and setting it on the coffee table.
“But she left the silver rattle,” Sophie said, pointing toward the hall closet where we kept the old keepsake box.
“The rattle was already in the carrier when the flight attendant handed you to me,” I said.
“The airline said the ticket was bought with cash under a false name,” Sophie said, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed the facts. “But someone had to sign the gate manifest.”
“The social worker, Mrs. Gable, spent three months trying to find a record of that signature,” I said. “She found nothing.”
We went back to the sorting in silence, the only sound being the rustle of tissue paper and the distant hum of the highway.
By four in the afternoon, the damp heat of Central Florida had settled over the porch like a wet wool blanket. The scent of pine floor cleaner from my morning chores lingered in the humid air, mixing with the dry scent of oak leaves scraping across the gravel driveway.
Ethan sat in the wicker chair opposite me, his long legs stretched out, his knuckles cracking with a dry pop that always made me wince. He had the college financial aid packet in his lap, the white envelope torn open along the top edge.
“The tuition bill for the fall semester is nine thousand four hundred dollars,” Ethan said, his voice quiet and level.
“We will find a way to cover it,” I said, though my fingers instinctively found my wedding ring again, twisting it against my knuckle. “The bank has always been reasonable about the line of credit.”
“You already took out five thousand last winter when the well pump failed,” he said, looking down at his boots.
