“I bet lots of things. Like who is calling the boss who shouldn’t be. Like where the boss goes when he takes a really long lunch. Like if the boss is stealing. Yes, that is definitely what I want to be when I grow up.”

I imagined adult Evelyn, hair pulled back in a bun with glasses hanging off the bridge of her nose, stenography pad in hand. Then I thought about my mother. “Do you think maybe my mom discovered a secret and that’s why she had to run away and leave me here?”

Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe that’s what happened. She came across some big secret and had to run. Maybe she couldn’t risk your safety. Maybe Matilda was in on it or something. Did she leave behind a clue? Did she give you anything before she left?”

I thought about the two hearts my grandmother brought me because my mother had forgotten. I held them every night before going to sleep. My fingers rubbed over the gold so many times that I worried they might soon lose their shine. I thought about the journal filled with my sister’s words. Her promises.

“No. She didn’t leave me anything.” My arms were wrapped so tightly around my knees that my shoulders began to ache.

“We’ll figure it out, Franny. Don’t worry. I’m always right about these things. I can just feel that it has something to do with a secret.”

Evelyn’s mother drove up and as she stood, her bag brushed across my fingers. A gale of wind appeared from nowhere and the two large maple trees across the street began to shake, spraying their helicopter seeds into the air. They spun with such purpose that for a moment it looked like they were alive. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and suddenly I felt overcome by a large, dark shadow. In that instant my stomach lurched and I felt lightheaded. I don’t think I could have moved even if I wanted. I didn’t know what exactly was so frightening to me.

All that I knew, without question, was that Evelyn was always right about these things.

Therese

Therese couldn’t contain her excitement. Finally, she was going inside the little red house. She knocked on the door several times before Barbara came to let her in.

“It’s you,” she grumbled and turned back to the living room.

Mail was strewn across the floor, probably where it landed after Barbara lost interest. There were bottles of nail polish everywhere, some strategically covering cigarette burns on the Formica in the kitchen. The sink was filled with dishes that gave off a sickly sweet odor. She tried to cover her disgust but there was no need because Barbara hadn’t given her a second look and had already returned to the living room and her spot across from the television.