“Was it a nice remember or a sad remember?”

“Both.”

She nodded as though this were a perfectly sensible category.

“Mommy says that happens.”

The pilot announced an expected arrival in Boston.

I stared at the little drawing on Willa’s lap.

It would have been tempting to tell myself that I had been kept from my child.

But I knew only a handful of facts: the girl’s age, a familiar face, her mother’s name, and five years of unanswered questions.