He hesitated, his hands still holding mine. Finally he said, “This may sound weird, but can you try to sense your mother?”

The realization thundered through me. “You...you don’t think they’re really dead.”

I could see the conflict in his eyes: his reluctance to get my hopes up versus whatever he was thinking. “I don’t know,” he said. “But this doesn’t feel right. The house burning down that way just seems too convenient, somehow. Almost like something you’d do for show.”

I swallowed hard, barely daring to hope. “It could have been a – an unruly mob, though. People do burn places down sometimes. And people die because of it.”

“Yeah, they do. Look, I could be totally wrong. But just try it, okay? Try to sense them.”

I almost didn’t want to try; didn’t want to allow myself even this small amount of hope, only to be disappointed. I took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to clear my mind enough to focus.

Mom.

I envisioned her soft blonde hair, so like my own natural shade; her green eyes that used to sparkle with recognition when they saw me. The smell of her, which wasn’t shampoo and wasn’t body lotion but a mixture of both, plus something else that was just her, my mother – a smell that when I was little I wanted to curl up in for ever. Even later, when she’d stopped responding to anyone at all, I’d still sit close to her sometimes as she sat lost in her dreams, breathing in that scent and wishing for things to be different.

It didn’t take long for Mom to be firmly in my head; she was never far from my thoughts. I stretched my mind out, drifting, searching. Was she out there, anywhere? Please?

Endless minutes went past. I stood against the cool porcelain sink with my eyes closed, trying not to force things, despite the thudding of my heart – the tiny agony of hope that had sprung up within me. Don’t push, just relax...drift... Mom, are you there?

Nothing. Darkness. My throat tightened as the hope flickered and died.

And then, somewhere in the emptiness, I thought I caught something – the faintest hint of a presence. I reached out, exploring it cautiously...and in a rush, a wild jumble of sensation swept over me. Mom’s smell; her voice; her essence.

She was content. She was safe.

“Alex, she’s alive, she’s okay!” I cried. “I can feel her!” I flung myself at him, hugging him hard; he caught me up, laughing, and lifted me briefly off the floor. At first I thought I was laughing too, but then I realized the tears had come after all – that now, when everything was all right, something in me had snapped like a frayed rubber band and I was crying as if I’d never be able to stop.