Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
I carried it back into the kitchen and set it down on the table next to the copper watering can.
“Open it to the summer before,” George said.
I flipped through the black construction paper pages, the plastic corners holding the small square prints in place. My fingers felt clumsy as I turned the heavy sheets.
I found the photo of Lily sitting on the front tire of the John Deere tractor, her hair tied back with a piece of red yarn. She was laughing, her chin tilted up toward the sky.
“Bring the glass, Clara,” I said.
Clara walked over to the table and held the magnifying glass over the old photo of Lily on the tractor.
Under the lens, the dark brown crescent was clear on her pale skin, sitting just below her left collarbone like a tiny ink mark.
“There it is,” Patrick whispered, leaning over my shoulder. “See? It is right there.”
“Now look at the new one,” Clara said.
