“No. Lauren’s driving herself.”

Whitney’s hand froze, the knife suspended over the tomato. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, huh?”

“You say it like it’s so old.”

“It’s older than you.”

“Barely. I’m sixteen.”

“You’re not sixteen yet.” Whitney nudged her in the side in a teasing way.

But Amelia didn’t laugh. Instead, she moved out of reach. “I will be soon.”

“I know.” Whitney tossed the chopped veggies into the bowl and then went to the sink to wash her hands.

Sixteen already. It seemed unfathomable.

The baby wrapped in Whitney’s arms, a blanket woven tightly around her tiny body, as she hurried down the hallway, her socked feet slipping on the linoleum.

Glancing up from the sink Whitney saw Amelia’s blurry reflection floating in the glass window. For so many years, she had known her daughter better than anyone. Saw her with so much clarity. But lately, she’d been like this reflection—muddled, mysterious, out of reach. Whitney knew it was the natural order of things. Her daughter was getting older. Asserting her independence.

But in Whitney’s heart, Amelia would always be her baby.

It was still Whitney’s job to keep her safe.

3

SATURDAY, NOON
NINETEEN HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF

“MA’AM, ARE YOU OKAY?” The man’s voice was far away, echoey, like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

Whitney’s vision blurred at the edges, her knees softening. The woman approached, standing at the edge of the doorway, frowning. Her paper-thin skin gathered around her eyes like fabric being pinched between two fingers.

She was at the wrong house again. She’d been sucked into the suburban vortex and gotten lost. There was no other explanation.

“I’m so sorry to bother you again,” Whitney said, her face flushing. “I guess...I just got turned around...or something.”

“Easy to do around here,” the man said, and Whitney was grateful for his understanding.

After throwing them one last apologetic half smile, she went back to her car and hopped inside. In the rearview mirror, she spotted the groceries. On the seat next to her sat the gummy worms, melting against the plastic wrapper. The couple remained in the doorway, watching Whitney with wary expressions. After sending Amelia another text, she threw the couple a wave and then turned on the car.

They hadn’t left the doorway. Probably afraid she’d knock again.

After putting the car into Drive, she stepped on the gas. At the main street, she went right, but this time she passed the first street and eased into the second one.

Again, all the houses looked similar but none with roses lining the yard. Her palms were slick. She wiped them alternately on the thigh of her jeans.

She headed down to the next street. No roses there either.