The night she disappeared.
Dad had been standing beneath the porch light with the little wooden sunflower clenched tightly in his hand.
“Why are you crying?” Sophie whispered.
I swallowed.
“Because your great-grandfather had this the night my sister disappeared.”
Sophie stared at the charm.
“Then how did Dolly get it?”
“I don’t know.”
For forty years, those three words had controlled my life.
I wasn’t going to let them control another day.
I called Sophie’s mother and asked her to come home early.
Then I grabbed the sweater and
