I took Grace gently from Dad. “It’s not a risk. Just an errand. I promise, Mom.”

I was pretty sure Dad knew I’d been lying, and I wondered if he chalked it up to my being stir-crazy or needing a break and using the haircut thing as an excuse. I wasn’t even thinking about what I’d say when I came home with the exact same hair as when I’d left. Those were problems for a future Kacy. Right now I had a mission, and if I told my parents, which I wanted to do, they’d argue with me, they’d be afraid, and they’d probably be right.

Once Grace was safely in her travel crib, I almost changed my mind. My mother was reading a book, my father was stretched out on the futon, and my heart contracted a little. I knew how awful it would be if anything happened to them, and it would be just as bad for them if something happened to me. It was my responsibility to be okay, to be careful. I owed that to my parents, to Grace, and to Michael, who’d sent us here to keep us safe.

But Lena was out there working on another surprise for me. I could picture Aimee, her wide eyes glassy and her lipsticked mouth slack, lifeless in the bowels of the museum. I had to know if she was alive, I had to warn her, and as I pulled the door shut behind me, everything else fell away.

My hands trembled as I entered the destination into my phone’s GPS. Just because I’d been to the Martina V. Umana every day for two years didn’t mean I knew how to orient myself in this unfamiliar neighborhood. About half an hour from Hawthorne to Montclair, if I took the Parkway and got lucky with Sunday traffic.

On the drive, I moved with a steady stream of cars until I reached the Montclair/Nutley exit. Now, as the green lawns rolled past me, it was almost as if the years could roll back too. I was alone: no baby, no husband, ready to hop on the transit or take a bus to the city. I could still be that woman, going to meet her best friend, their whole futures ahead of them. And then with a bump, I drove under the rail bridge, and as I approached the familiar landscape of Bloomfield Avenue, the fantasy fell away.

I wasn’t that person anymore.