“Hi, Mom! I was wondering if the girls could spend the night at your place—maybe even the weekend?” I was turning onto my street. I sounded good, though inside I was little more than something howling.

“Well, I would love that! But we didn’t plan it. Is everything all right?” She sounded worried. That was all it took.

“I have a little stomach virus. It’s going around, and it’s so contagious. Robert’s safe—he’s too young to catch it, but if the girls come home, they’ll have it in five minutes.” I made myself laugh, a light little sound. I manufactured it inside my body, then released it.

“Oh, how awful. Should I go get them at school?” They stayed with her so often that they kept pj’s and toothbrushes and even extra clothes and swimsuits there.

“No need. Marshall’s dropping them off.”

“Oh. How’s he doing? How’s Cara?” She always asked that, in exactly this tone, ever since Betsy went out on a routine domestic and did not come home.

“Fine, but, Mom? I really don’t feel great. I need to go lie down.”

“You poor thing! Do you want me to come get Robert?”

“No,” I said, too fast, too hard. I forced myself to soften. “You know how contagious these things are. I don’t want you to catch it either.”

“Okay. Try to get some rest.”

“I will. You’re the sweetest,” I said, and hung up fast.

My cheeks felt wet. I reached up and touched them, wondering when I’d started crying again. But at least I could see my house ahead.

As I pulled up, everything looked so still and quiet. The drive was empty, and no cars were parked out front. She was not here. Robert was not here. The very idea had been lunacy, driven by fear and hope. If Robert was here, why would we pay? But if no one was going to meet me, why had the note told me to go home? I couldn’t make sense of it. Nothing made sense.

I was reaching for the button that would open the garage door when I caught a flash of bright color from the corner of my eye. I stopped the Escalade in the driveway.

A gift bag hung from my front doorknob. It was striped in hot pink and yellow, with lime green curling ribbons and tissue paper exploding out the top. It couldn’t have been there long. It was so garish I would have noticed it when I was leaving.

Had she told me to go home so I’d see this? Perhaps inside the bag I’d find instructions, telling me when and where and how much. I shook my head. It felt random, so risky. We lived in Great Lakes, an old, established Decatur neighborhood, very safe but still urban. Anyone could have come along and taken the bag.