One Thursday afternoon, I was standing on the porch with a glass of lemonade in my hand when Susan came walking up the driveway with a boy beside her.
“Mom!” she called. “This is Noah. He just transferred to my class. Mrs. Benson paired us for the science project.”
The boy looked up at me.
The glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the porch.
For a moment, I could not breathe.
He had Susan’s eyes.
The same curls.
The same shape of face.
Even the same little dimple near his left cheek when he gave me a shy smile.
He looked exactly like my daughter.
No.
He looked like what Clark might have looked like if he had lived.
“Mom?” Susan rushed toward me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered, though my voice didn’t sound like mine. “I just dropped the glass.”
Noah stepped forward quickly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Did I scare you?”
That nearly broke me.
His voice was gentle. Polite. Familiar in a way that made no sense.
“No,” I said, forcing a smile. “Of course not. Come inside. You two can work in the kitchen.”
I gave them cookies and notebooks. Susan chattered happily about their project on plant growth. Noah listened carefully and wrote down every idea she had.
I stood there pretending to wipe the counter while my heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
