“What happened?”
“Lizzy called.”
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My voice sounded strangely calm, even to me.
“She said they locked her in.”
Adam was awake now.
“Locked her in where?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Could you have misunderstood her?”
“No.”
I threw back the covers and pulled on jeans, a sweatshirt, and the first jacket I could reach.
“I know her voice.”
Lizzy was my brother Ian’s daughter.
Ian was away receiving treatment, and while he was gone, my parents, Gloria and Walt, had been given guardianship of her.
They received monthly care checks and told everyone in the family that Lizzy was doing well.
My mother posted cheerful updates and repeated the same explanation whenever anyone noticed that Lizzy seemed tired or thin.
“She’s delicate,” Gloria would say.
My father always backed her up.
“She’s picky. We know how to raise a kid.”
