I stared at my hair in the mirror and muttered, “You are 62. Act like it.”
Then I called my hairdresser anyway.
The next day, after the final bell, Emily slipped into my classroom with a conspiratorial smile.
“He replied,” she whispered.
My heart jumped. “What did he say?”
I nodded before my fear could overtake me.
She showed me the screen.
“‘If it’s really her, please tell her I’d like to see her. I’ve been waiting a long time.’”
My throat tightened.
Emily said, “Saturday? Two p.m.? The café near the park?”
