34 • Postcard

They sat at the window, exactly where Amelia had sat before with Casey. Sunlight streamed in, drawing attention to the array of crumbs on the tabletop.

“Too bright for you?” her father asked.

“No, I like it.”

He swept the crumbs away with the side of his hand. “There,” he said. “Much better.”

The sun was warm and it felt good to her. She closed her eyes and lifted her head for a moment and imagined light seeping through her body.

He had coffee and she had hot chocolate. They shared a molasses cookie the size of a saucer.

“Not as good as Mrs. O’Brien’s,” he said.

“Nothing is.”

He cleared his throat. “Oh, before I forget . . .” He reached for the inside pocket of his sport coat, pulled something out, and passed it to her. “For you,” he said. “I know you know about this.”

It was the Babar postcard Hannah had told her about. Babar was lying in a bathtub, washing himself with a sponge. The postcard was yellowed and curled. The corners were worn, one was missing.

Amelia felt swimmy all of a sudden, for just a second. She had a vague memory of seeing the postcard before. She supposed it was a fragment of the movie of her life. A blurry part of her story from long, long ago.

“You never told me about this,” said Amelia.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess there’s a lot I haven’t told. Haven’t said. Haven’t asked.”

Amelia glanced downward. She’d hidden the envelope from Casey under her thigh. She pulled it out and put it on the table with the postcard. She waited for him to ask about it.

But he didn’t.

And she didn’t tell.

Maybe, she thought, I’m more like him than I admit. There were things she didn’t talk about, too.

But there was something she wanted to ask. “When will I see Hannah again?”

His mouth drew down at the corners. “Would you like that?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Soon. Soon and often, I hope.”

“Me, too.”

“This is a good window for watching people,” he said, changing the subject. Then he seemed to relax. He sipped his coffee, broke off another piece of the cookie, and ate it. In the bright sunshine, his freckled fingers looked pale, his knuckles wrinkled and baggy.

“Yeah.” It was the perfect opening for her to tell him about Casey and naming people and Epiphany. Epiphany, the ghost mother. But she couldn’t do it. She worried that it would bewilder him, or worse, make him cross.

But she could imagine telling Hannah about it someday. She could see Hannah finding the fantasy, the whole misunderstanding, interesting, logical, even touching. In her mind she could hear Hannah say: While I was looking for you, you were looking for me. That’s amazing!

Amelia decided to be bold. “Want to play a game?” she asked.