hadn’t needed to find me.
She needed me to remain lost.
I was worth more to her missing.
That was when the small-town machinery started moving.
Around four, a Buick pulled up outside.
Aunt Sharon stepped out carrying a casserole dish she claimed she was returning.
June muttered that Sharon had been holding the dish since Easter.
She had heard June had company.
She came to inspect what kind.
What kind was three and a half years old, sitting on the porch teaching a doll to count acorns.
I watched
