Yes, I am free. I live on San Orcanita Island off the coast of Washington. Thank you for coming. I don’t leave the island often. It is beautiful here, you will love it.

Evie

In three minutes I received a message back . . .

Dear Evie,

Thank you so much for letting us come to see you. We will arrive this weekend, on Friday. Please let us know if we can take you out to dinner. Please bring anyone you would like to bring.

Love,

Your mother, Betsy, and father, Johnny

That night I rode Shakespeare on a trail around the island to think.

I was going to meet Betsy, Johnny, Tilly, and Kayla.

It was hard to fathom.

Impossible.

Yet . . . exciting. She had premonitions. I had premonitions.

I was not alone with this strange affliction.

Would the hole in my soul heal? Had I always known that I was not with my biological mother? Had I subconsciously always felt that loss?

I pulled on Shakespeare’s reins and we watched the sunset, lavender and burgundy, gold and yellow, orange and white.

Sunsets, especially on the island, always give me hope.

* * *

A family walked into Books, Cake, and Tea.

The woman had brown curls. She had a beaming smile. She was pretty. Her husband was tall and slender, somewhat gangly, glasses. He looked like a stereotypical image of an engineer: super smart. She was pushing a stroller with a baby in it and holding the hand of a girl who looked about two. Her husband was holding a boy who looked to be four and holding the hand of another boy who was clearly a twin. There was a girl about six, too, with brown curls.

It was the six-year-old girl who caught and held my eyes the most. She had blue eyes like cornflowers. A big smile. A dimple in her left cheek. She was skinny . . .

I looked up again at the mother, who was coming toward me, smiling, laughing, her arms out.

“Evie!” she called out. “My favorite member of the Island Girls Gang.”

I put a hand on the counter near the register. It couldn’t be. It was.

“Emily?” I squeaked out.

“Yep! Here to play Warrior Women with you again!”

She hugged me tight and we laughed. She kissed my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. So much.” I was so glad to see her, but then my guilt hit, my utter anguish about what I’d not done for her. How could she hug me? How could she be glad to see me? How come she didn’t hate me? Why would she even come in the bookstore to see me?

“This is my family,” she said to me, then turned toward them, “And this is Evie, my best friend.”

* * *