The grandfather clock chimed just the one time again. “It must be our turn,” Calla said excitedly.

I didn’t know how she put that together with a clock that only chimed once each time it sounded. I tried to keep up with Calla as she dashed down the hallway, giggling and prattling on and on about how “magical” the ball would be.

She abruptly stopped beside a darkly paneled wall. Upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn’t a wall, but two sliding doors. Calla turned to me, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “What color gowns do you think they’ll make for us?”

Hmmm. Yellow for you and green for me, I thought sardonically.

“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out,” I said, trying to stay in character. This pleased Calla, and she rewarded me with a tight hug.

Two girls, sisters, I corrected myself, slid the doors open and stepped past us, giggling. Calla took my hand and led me inside.

The room was larger than I expected. Cream-colored trim work blended in with pale peach-colored walls. Several oversized ottomans dotted the enormous room where pairs of girls were in various stages of undress. An older woman was assigned to each pair. She worked quickly to measure the girls, jotting notes down in a small cream-colored journal.

“Come on in, girls,” said a woman with auburn-colored hair and eyes as black as pitch. She smiled, gesturing us to the last available ottoman. “I’m Nettie.”

“I’m Calla, and this is my sister Penny,” Calla said proudly.

“Well, aren’t you two as pretty as a picture?” Nettie said. “Your tea will be here momentarily, but let’s get started, shall we?”

Calla kicked off her shoes and unzipped her dress, pulling it over her head. I groaned internally when I saw what she wore beneath her dress.

A slip.

I was surprised I even knew what one was. I didn’t own a slip, much less ever worn one. But my mother had. I remember when she’d worn a slip underneath a slinky black dress on “date night” with my father a lifetime ago.

I wondered if my parents’ story played out the same way back in Woodvine. Did the altered reality that was created to mask my disappearance still accommodate our little family? Did my mother and my father ever marry? Would my mother even know who I was? In her world, she may have never had a baby girl called Leath. If she did, it certainly wouldn’t have been me. Did Dad still have a reason to be on the road that day with that drunk driver barreling down on him? If my absence and their altered reality meant my dad was still alive, then leaving my life in Woodvine had been worth it.

“What’s wrong?” Nettie asked.