My sons leave the car first, looking for their auntie from long ago. I stay inside, telling them to text me when they find her. My heart racing. A cigarette burning yellow lines into my fingertips. I glance into the rear-view mirror and moan, thinking about how I should have pulled my hair back into a ponytail. My hair, the first thing she’ll critique. That will be followed by my inflated tire tube waistline. I debate putting on lipstick. My phone pings. That’s my youngest texting to tell me they’ve found her. Time to get out and face Sister. I wish I could turn around and head back home.

Sister is at the local grocery store on the other side of the parking lot from where I had parked. I get out of my car and put some gum in my mouth. Then I start a slow walk toward them. I see the familiar silhouette that is her. Her hair long and flowing, her slim, curvy body looking the same as it always did. I want to run and jump into her arms or wrap my hands around her eyes from behind and whisper, “Guess who?” but instead I contain myself and walk at an even slower pace, thinking about what I should say first.

I don’t utter one word as I approach. She turns and falls into my arms, and the orders begin once the tears dry. “Put your car here—no, not there, here—under the trees.

“Of course, it’s all right—no, you won’t get ticketed. This is a small town. Everyone parks here for days on end.

“No, you don’t need anything from the store. We have everything we need where we’re going. The high country—you’ll see.”

The three of us jump into her Jeep. The seat feels so high up that I am as dizzy as the hills moving past us. The radio is on and BBC is telling us world events as we drive along. No one says anything. We listen to an announcer speaking to us in a soothing voice, telling us that children were bombed in schools in the Middle East. The emotionless tone tells us what the royal family is up to. I can’t hold the silence any longer.

“I really hate BBC news. Everything sounds the same to me. Babies getting killed have the same emotion as whether or not Kate has had that baby yet.”

“I’ve never noticed,” Sister replies, reaching for the radio dial and turning it off. “Tom,” she says, glancing into her rear-view mirror, “Sing us a song.”