I laugh and say, “I think I might.”

The Redenbacher in my cabinet is a month past its expiration date and I yell to the bedroom, “It’s expired.”

“Who cares?” she yells back. “I want popcorn!”

I throw it in the microwave then move to the couch where Ingrid has disposed of her clothes. I gingerly fold them and place them on the coffee table. Her cell phone is half out of her purse and I snag it. Her home screen is a picture of me asleep with Lassie on my chest, and it always makes me laugh. Her phone flashes on. She has a missed text, and I quickly read the one sentence.

I don’t hear the microwave buzzer until the third chime.

I replace the phone, snag the popcorn, and climb into bed.

Lassie snuggles up on my chest and Ingrid makes a little pile of popcorn on my belly that Lassie quickly devours.

It is 3:19 a.m.

“Okay, so run me through what’s happened so far.”

I shake the text from thought and give her a minute long recap.

We spend the next forty minutes watching the movie.

At 3:59 a.m., I flip the laptop closed and Ingrid rests her head on my shoulder.

I stroke her head and say, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Sleepyhead.”

“Oh, wait, you were gonna tell me about the meeting you had this morning.”

I feel her head squirm in my arm. “Oh, it turned out not to be anything. Actually, it was canceled, and I got to sleep in.”

I think back to the text on her phone.

Thanks for coming this morning.

But it wasn’t the words that were unsettling.

It was the phone number.

It was the same number I had written on my Get Out of Jail Free card.

Ingrid’s meeting had been with the President of the United States.

::::

I spend the next two days finishing off the movie and talking to my dad. He compiled a list of everything he knew about my mother: her upbringing, her parents, her schooling, the car she drove, her friends. Everything he tells me I either already know or was researched by AST and proved a falsity.

As for the movie, it had its moments. What it didn’t have was a secret. In fact, I was starting to have serious doubts my mother was responsible for the DVD showing up on my doorstep.

That is, until ten minutes ago, when I called Amazon’s twenty-four-hour customer service line. After giving the representative my shipping address and the date the movie was received, she was able to trace the purchase to a credit card listed under the name, get this, Jane Doe.

I’m still reeling from this revelation when the phone in my hand vibrates.

It’s a text from Ingrid.

Didn’t hear from you yesterday. How did the movie end up? I’m guessing you didn’t find any clues.