But still, the dress was gorgeous, and it reminded me of Joburg . . . golden, shimmery, Egoli. It looked like the dress that the singer Miriam Makeba wore on the front cover of Drum magazine in 1955. And what could be more Jozi than that? Her pictures hung on the walls of Maggie’s, and suddenly I missed home so much I wanted to cry, and this dress seemed like the only thing in this entire place that reminded me of it.

A loud honk made me jump, and I realized that I’d been looking for so long that the traffic light had turned green. I pulled away and told myself not to think of that golden dress in the window again. Thinking about things like that only caused pain.

12

I rang the bell on the wall and waited.

“Hello?” An upbeat voice crackled through the speaker.

“Hi, it’s Lori for Dr. Stride.”

“Lori! Come in.” A loud buzz, followed by a click as the gate unlocked. I pushed it open and was immediately greeted by an arrow and a sign that read To Head Shrinker. Weird therapist humor, I guess. I followed the path past the main house until I reached a cottage around the back. The door was open and I stuck my head inside.

“Hellooo,” I called out to no reply.

I crept in and glanced around. Wow! It looked like a unicorn had thrown up in here. I had never seen so many bright, mismatching colors in my life. Neon-yellow cushions on a bright, purple couch. A floral wingback chair, and a gold-sequined ottoman. Orchids of varying sizes and colors, a round, red coffee table, butterfly wallpaper, and so many snow globes.

“Hello,” I called again and waited.

“Lori!” I swung around when I heard the voice, and then I stopped and stared. Because standing in the doorway was, undoubtedly, the person who’d decorated this room.

“Lori. I’ve heard so much about you. Come outside, you’re just in time.” She waved her arm at me, and I was immediately drawn to her nails. Long and purple and bedazzled.