Clara rubbed her temple with two fingers
Clara rubbed her temple with two fingers, her hand trembling slightly before she caught herself and dropped it to her lap.
“We need to know where she is, Clara.”
“She does not want to be found, sister,” Clara said, her voice dropping an octave as she adjusted her notepad.
“That does not mean we stop looking.”
We moved into the living room, where the baby lay asleep in the middle of the sofa, wrapped in a pink receiving blanket we had found in the bag of diapers.
I sat on the edge of the cushion, my hand resting near the baby’s tiny, rising chest while Clara stood by the window.
“If Jennifer is in trouble, she would have left more than a scrap of yellow paper,” Clara said.
“Maybe she could not write more,” I said.
Clara stopped looking out at the rain, her breath coming a bit faster as she leaned against the armchair for support.
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