was waiting in the back booth of a small diner.
I placed the photograph between us.
“You took care of Teagan?”
“For part of that day.”
“Then why did she give you this letter?”
“She was scared,” Trudy said. “She didn’t think she was going to die, Elizabeth. She was eighteen and about to have a baby.”
That mattered.
Teagan hadn’t written the letter because she knew she was leaving us.
She had simply been frightened.
Trudy continued.
“She told me that if something went wrong and the boy didn’t
