I was stumped by her question. Not because I didn’t have an answer but because I didn’t know how to explain it to her. As a child, I’d had Junie’s seriousness about life and my place in it because I learned early that to be frivolous, to take things for granted around my mama, was asking for a world of hurt. I hoped that Junie’s gravity came from somewhere else entirely, that it was because she was born a little wiser than other babies, a little surer of herself, more secure in the love I always, always gave her. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “I’d better get going before the reporters figure out where we are.”

“This was nice,” Jenny said as I made a second attempt to slide off the table. “Spending time with someone who gets it. It’s a relief.” I understood what she meant. Losing a child the way we had resulted in instant isolation. After the initial flurry of sympathy, people gave you a wide berth in case your bad luck, the dark cloud of murder and violence you lived under, seeped over onto them. She smiled at me as I stood. “Why did we never do this before? Our girls were so close and this is the first time we’ve ever really had a conversation.”

I shrugged, looked away. “Just busy, I guess.”

“Well, better late than never. Although I think I did most of the talking. Next time, it’s your turn, okay?”

I forced my mouth into a half smile. “Okay,” I said, knowing, even if Jenny didn’t, that there was never going to be a next time.

TWELVE

When a reporter finally cornered me, I had no one but myself to blame. I’d gone to the laundromat as the sun was rising, hoping to get my laundry done and be back at the apartment before anyone else was stirring. My luck held when I let myself in through the screen door in the back of the laundromat, the smell of perfumed dryer sheets smacking me in the face, and not a single other person in sight. A couple of dryers were full of clothes someone hadn’t bothered to pick up from the day before, but all six washing machines were empty. I filled one with whites, the other with everything else, feeding quarters into the slots without really paying attention, my eyes roaming over the bulletin board behind the machines. Notices about yard sales, offers to babysit with phone numbers scrawled on paper tags no one had pulled off, pleas for the return of lost dogs, and there, in the middle, a picture of Junie’s face.

It was like taking a punch to the gut, completely unprepared for the sharp stab of pain. I flinched as I stared at her gap-toothed smile, her freckled nose, a number for anyone with tips to call printed below. I fought against the sudden urge to rip down the flyer, to hide her away where other people couldn’t gawk at her. I didn’t want her to belong to the whole world. I wanted her to still be only mine.