I’d kept that imaginary Visa with Betsy’s long-form name. I took it with me anywhere that I felt out of place, as if it could buy me tickets. I’d had it with me the day I met Trey.

Now, as the Lyft driver turned in to the Botanical Garden, I could feel it in the bottom of my bag, infused with Betsy’s leftover magic. It felt realer tonight than the actual cards in my wallet. It turned me into my best friend, boldly wearing someone else’s dress, smiling easy as I headed to a place where I did not belong to do something that I should not be doing.

The bracelet pinched. Somewhere far away, back in Decatur, that pain tethered me to a woman, some mother, I’d left screaming and writhing on the floor. She was not here. She could not be here.

The sedan was pulling up to the front entrance when the Bluetooth chimed in my ear. I answered on the first ring, one hand reaching up robotically to touch the button.

“Hello?”

I could hear Robert making small, snuffling noises. I could hear the breath of the mother who wasn’t me, and yet she was the one who held him. It was almost panting, short and shallow. Three breaths and she still had not spoken.

“Hello?” I said again.

“Are you there yet?” She sounded urgent, but also tinnier, farther away. Had they reached her destination? I thought so. The air on the line sounded different. No traffic sounds. At least Robert was no longer rocketing down a highway in her lap. She’d taken him a few minutes before 5:00 p.m., which meant he could be no more than four hours away from me. No, less than that. She’d stopped for at least half an hour to talk with me.

“I am.” I closed my eyes.

“You’re not!” she insisted, as if she knew. Was the daughter in place already, watching for me, or was she only reacting to the quiet on my end of the line?

“I’m right outside. Getting dropped off now.” A tremor had come into my voice. The car had stopped. “Thank you,” I told the driver, and got out. Ahead, a group of four men emerged from a dark, sleek sedan, chatting and laughing. Faint music drifted toward me from inside.

“Bree!” someone called, and I waved in their direction, smiling wide.

“On the phone, sec!” I called back, then pointed to my ear to indicate the Bluetooth.

“Oh! Tell Trey we’ll miss him tonight.” It was Michael something, a young associate.

I nodded and turned away. “You hear?”

“All right, then.” They were definitely somewhere else. Not in a car. “Maybe I should stay on the line with you. Listen in.”