Lucy read it twice.
Then she asked the question only an eleven-year-old could ask.
“Does she look like Grandma?”
I started crying.
“Yes.”
Their first meeting happened at a bowling alley.
Neutral territory.
Lucy’s choice.
Rebecca was terrible at bowling.
That helped.
Halfway through the second game, Lucy asked, “So where were you all this time?”
Rebecca looked at me.
I didn’t rescue her.
“In a life I was afraid to leave,” she said.
Lucy considered that.
“Mom thought you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“That’s really messed up.”
Rebecca nodded.
“It is.”
Then Lucy picked up her ball.
Children sometimes understand accountability better than adults.
Simone Carter was eventually buried under her own name.
Her brother invited me to the small memorial.
I almost didn’t go.
Rebecca did.
We sat separately.
That was important.
Simone’s brother spoke about a woman I had never known—a woman who loved old soul records, who could repair almost anything, who once drove six hours to rescue a cousin stranded at college.
