She seemed to search for the words.
« It said something about not wanting to go home. »
I couldn’t breathe.
She continued carefully.
« I think it said, ‘I can’t go back yet.’ »
The boardwalk noise faded again.
I saw Gia in our doorway.
Green tank top.
Beach bag.
That stubborn little tilt of her chin.
« Was there a name? »
« I don’t remember. »
« You said you’d heard Gia’s name. »
The woman looked away.
I waited.
She rubbed the strap between her fingers.
« My name is Dana, » she said.
I didn’t care what her name was.
« I found another thing inside the lining. »
I stared at her.
« What? »
« There was a tear near the bottom. Years ago, I was fixing it, and I felt something inside. »
My pulse jumped.
« What was it? »
She opened the bag.
For several seconds, she searched through the contents.
Wallet.
Sunglasses.
