I didn’t know the woman, but I thought she was probably somebody’s wife, someone’s mother, someone I knew from school. She looked at me like she was going to ask me something but stopped herself. So I got off the bike, walked it past her, and opened up the truck, looking inside to see if there was a pack of cigarettes. When she kept looking in my direction, I poked my head up over the door.

“Is something wrong?” I asked her.

The sun was filtered, hazy, low over the field and the wrestling dogs. She pointed at the entrance to the woods that led to our house.

“I just—” she started. “There was a little kid earlier,” she said. “And I just worried because it seemed like she was by herself.”

My heart hammered. “A little kid?” I asked. “How little?” But I knew, I knew it, before she even said it.

“Maybe five?” she said. She held out her hands in protest, or guilt, or explanation. “I just have never seen her,” she said. “And I know these kids. I teach kindergarten. I’ve seen all the five-year-olds in town. Not her.”

“Huh,” was all I said.

“She came right out here and talked to me,” she said. “She asked about my dogs.”

“She did?” I asked.

“Yes, she was friendly, and quite bright,” she said. “Talkative.”

That was Birdie, I thought.

“And then she took off into the woods,” the woman said, “and I didn’t want to run after her because of the dogs. I didn’t want to scare her. But …” She started laughing. “Now I’m wondering if I saw a ghost.” She laughed harder, and my eyebrows went up in surprise.

“A ghost,” I said.

She shrugged and threw up her hands. “Crazy. I know,” she said.

I looked off into the woods. There was no movement, no sign of them outside, no smoke from the fire.

“Have you ever seen her?” she asked.

“No,” I said, and only after thought maybe I should have said yes, that maybe saying yes would have drawn less attention to the little girl who might not even be real. “But I’ll keep my eye out,” I told her. I added, “I’m here all the time.”

I’d started to walk away when she said, “She told me …” She hesitated, and then went on while I waited.

“What did she tell you?” I asked. I stopped and went back to her at the back of her Volvo, where she stood with the gate open, trying to herd the dogs back in.

“I asked her if she was alone, or if she was lost,” she said. “Like, if she was looking for someone.”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“She said she was looking for the angel.”

I blinked, hard, unbelieving.

“I know,” the woman said. She laughed again and shook her head. “You’re just a kid yourself, and I’m a crazy woman telling you about a little girl looking for an angel, but … you know how sometimes you just can’t tell what’s real?”