AT MY SISTER’S WEDDING, SHE SMIRKED AND SAID, “GO FIND ANOTHER TABLE, ADOPTED GIRL”

twice before I got them in the ignition. My fingers wouldn’t work right.

Five words. That’s all Dorothy gave me before I left.

She’d leaned down, her lipstick close enough that I could smell the powder on her cheek, and she said: “Go to the white church first.”

Not the lake house.

The white church.

There’s a Lutheran church off Route 9, the one with the continue reading …