***
At nine o’clock, the doorbell rang.
I ignored it because I did not have the energy to face anyone.
It rang again.
Then came the frantic knocking.
I pushed myself up, wiped my face, and opened the door, ready to refuse another casserole or another pair of sad eyes.
But a little girl stood on my porch.
Then came the frantic knocking.
She had tangled brown hair, wet cheeks, and an oversized denim jacket hanging off her shoulders.
In her arms was Randy’s backpack.
My hand grabbed the doorframe.
“Are you Randy’s mom?” she asked.
I nodded.
She hugged the backpack tighter. “You were looking for this, weren’t you?”
“Where did you get that, honey?”
“Randy told me to guard it. He was my friend.”
“Are you Randy’s mom?”
My chest tightened. “When?”
“That day.”
I reached for the bag, but she stepped back.
“No,” she whispered. “I have to say it first, or I’ll get scared and run.”
I swallowed hard. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Sarah.”
“Come in, Sarah. Would you like some juice?”
She looked behind her like someone might stop her.
“I didn’t steal it.”
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I know.”
