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voice said. “How can I help you?”
    A live person!
    â€œI’m checking on my flight. Flight number 741,” Vera said.
    â€œJust a moment please,” the voice said.
    â€œWhat is your full name and confirmation number please?” the voice came back on after a few minutes.
    Vera told her.
    â€œI’m sorry that reservation has been cancelled. Did you not cancel your flight?”
    Flummoxed, Vera hung up the phone. She didn’t know what to say. A brew of emotions filled her. Her mother must have cancelled the flight and returned home earlier. Vera’s hand balled into a fist and she reached for her bag before heading to the studio.

    When Sheila walked into the dance studio, Vera was staring off into space.
    â€œHey!” she said. “You still with us?”
    â€œHuh?” Vera said.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” Sheila said. “Thinking about that proposal again?”
    â€œConcerned about Mama and Jon.” She ignored the proposal bit from Sheila. Honestly!
    â€œI’ve been thinking . . . have you called the airline?”
    â€œAnnie called this morning and said passenger lists are private. Cops could get them, though,” Vera said. “But then I had this crazy idea and it worked.” She told Sheila what had happened.
    â€œSo evidently she cancelled her flight and came back to the States early,” Sheila said. “But where is she?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Vera said, throwing aside her pencil. “She doesn’t have her cell phone with her and Jon never has his with him. Besides, their luggage is at home. Mama’s luggage is already home, on her bed, with her cell phone.”
    â€œWhy don’t we get Detective Bryant involved?” Sheila said after a few beats.
    â€œYou mean file a missing persons report?” Vera asked.
    â€œThat’s exactly what I mean,” Shelia said, crossing her arms.
    â€œOh, I don’t know. That’s serious stuff to get the police involved.”
    â€œAnd why shouldn’t you?” Sheila said. “Your mom is going to be eighty-five years old and she’s missing.”
    â€œIf they found her and she was fine, she’d kill me,” Vera said, biting her lip.
    Sheila grinned. “Might be worth it.”
    â€œI might do it. I’ll give Bryant a call and see what he says.”
    â€œGood idea. I’m off to the grocery store,” Sheila said.
    As she left, she turned to look at Vera, edged between her desk and the computer, surrounded by papers. How many times had she seen her friend in this same tableau? The studio was decorated in pinks and browns and the walls were covered with posters of ballerinas. One of these days, Sheila vowed to make a scrapbook for Vera, the woman who had made countless scrapbooks for her ballet students over the years.
    As she walked out on to the street, Sheila’s cell phone blared. “What?” she said, after seeing Steve’s name on the screen. She’d just left him, for God’s sake.
    â€œSomething is wrong with Donna,” he said.
    â€œWhat? What do you mean?” she said, her skin vibrating.
    â€œShe won’t get up,” Steve said.
    â€œShe’s just tired,” Sheila said.
    â€œI walked past her room and she’s wide awake, but staring into space . . . and there’s a foul odor coming from her room. I wanted to go in there, but I think she’s peed herself,” Steve said. “And she won’t—”
    Sheila shoved her phone into her purse and ran home. What was happening to Donna?
    She ran down the block past everything familiar—but it all looked so strange, so menacing. All of it stood between her and her daughter. She saw her house and it looked so far away. So far. Too far. She continued to run, past the neighbors, past the woman who said hello to her. Sheila passed her with a blur, but she didn’t care. She needed to get home to her