A moment later, it rang again.
Then came frantic knocking.
With exhausted steps, I walked to the door, expecting another neighbor carrying sympathy and casseroles.
Instead, a little girl stood on my porch.
Her brown hair was tangled. Tears streaked her cheeks. An oversized denim jacket hung from her tiny shoulders.
And in her arms…
…was Randy’s backpack.
For illustrative purposes only
“You Were Looking for This, Weren’t You?”
I froze.
The girl hugged the backpack tightly against her chest.
“Are you Randy’s mom?” she asked softly.
I nodded, unable to speak.
“You were looking for this, weren’t you?”
My voice shook.
“Where did you get it?”
“Randy told me to protect it,” she whispered. “He was my friend.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“When did he tell you that?”
“That day.”
I instinctively reached for the backpack, but she stepped backward.
“No,” she said quickly. “I have to tell you first… or I’ll get scared and run away.”
I swallowed hard.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Sarah.”
I invited her inside, offering juice and trying not to frighten her further.
She looked over her shoulder nervously, as if afraid someone would stop her.
“I didn’t steal it,” she murmured.
“I know you didn’t.”
