Amelia’s heart pounded. She flashed Casey an expression—both disapproving and searching. She was not ready to talk about Epiphany. “Mrs. O’Brien, do you remember when we would plant pennies?” Amelia asked. A diversion.

“Of course I do.”

“We haven’t done that in a long time,” said Amelia.

“What’s that?” asked Casey. “How do you plant pennies? And why?”

“It’s fun,” said Amelia. “It’s when you put a penny someplace where you think someone will find it. Like on a railing or a park bench or a windowsill or a shelf in a grocery store.”

Mrs. O’Brien smiled. “You used to love to hide and wait and watch to see what would happen.”

“Having little kids find them was the best,” said Amelia. “Sometimes they’d get so excited.”

“That’s funny,” said Mrs. O’Brien, “because you were little yourself.” She paused. “But you’ve always seemed old. An old soul, you are.”

“Here,” said Casey. “Yours to plant.” He slid the penny across the table to Amelia.

“Oh!” said Amelia, sharply, rising quickly from her chair with a jerk, nearly falling.

“What?” said Casey.

“You’re jumpy,” said Mrs. O’Brien calmly. “Poor thing, what is it? What’s the matter?”

“I heard a car door,” said Amelia. “I’ll see if it’s the Professor.”

A look of understanding passed between Amelia and Mrs. O’Brien.

“Who’s the Professor?” asked Casey.

“Mrs. O’Brien will fill you in,” said Amelia. As she left the kitchen, Amelia purposely brushed against Mrs. O’Brien. Just to have the contact, the touch. “I’ll be right back.”

16 • Scenario

The driveway was empty. And so was the street directly in front of their house. From the porch, Amelia glanced left and right. She saw two things. She gasped.

One: Her father’s car was approaching from down the block, on the left.

Two: A small silver car was parked at the corner, on the right. Standing beside the car on the driver’s side was Epiphany. The cantaloupe jacket was like an exotic bird in a bleak landscape. Epiphany seemed to be looking right at Amelia and when she saw the Professor’s car pull into the driveway, she hesitated, then quickly slipped back into the silver car and drove away.

Seeing what Amelia saw was like eating ice cream too fast. Her head ached. And then her heart.

It was a moment of breathless suspension.

Her father slammed the car door—a jolt that brought her back. Back to the porch, watching her father move against the wind under the pewter sky, toward her, smiling tightly.

She moved and acted as expected—greeting her father, introducing him to Casey, filling a few awkward minutes with small talk until her father fled to the privacy of his study. But she did so on liquid legs, as if in a fog, her composure paper-thin.

She hoped no one sensed her remove.

Epiphany had taken hold of her imagination. Amelia’s thoughts lit up with possible scenarios.

The scenario that blazed brightest was this: Amelia’s mother hadn’t died. For some reason, long ago, she needed to leave her husband and two-year-old daughter. And, now, after ten years, she’d returned. Because she couldn’t bear to live without her daughter.