I’d had that same dimple as a child.
I wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt.
“Look at her!” Nora laughed. “She could be one of us!”
I smiled.
But later, alone in my car, I cried.
I’d imagined Lucy growing up with curls like mine.
I’d imagined helping her get dressed for school.
“She could be one of us!”
Ellie looked so much like the little girl in those dreams.
Then Ellie decided she liked me.
She called me Auntie Claire.
Whenever I visited, she brought me two hair ribbons and asked for pigtails.
She called me Auntie Claire.
“Not one braid,” she’d instruct. “Two.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t pull.”
“I’ll try.”
She’d sit on a kitchen chair, swinging her feet while I worked.
Once, she asked whether I had any children.
“I’ll try.”
I told her I’d had a little girl who died when she was a baby.