"There’s a soccer match this Friday. She’ll be there. I can point her out to you."
A pause.
"What you do after that, Miss Keaton… that’s your call."
***
We come prepared with two lawn chairs, a blanket to spread across the grass, a tote bag full of snacks, and a small ice chest stocked with water and sodas. Everything carefully curated to make us look like we belong.
“Why do I feel like we’re breaking the law?” Tina mutters, setting down the blanket. “I swear, if there’s a cop in this park, we’re getting questioned.”
"It wouldn't be the first time," I say, letting out a nervous laugh. My eyes sweep across the sidelines, searching for Dawson.
I glance at my watch—4:50.
“Dawson should be here any minute,” I say. “The game starts at five.”
I fight the urge to start scanning the field, speculating which of the girls might be Izzy. Is she still blonde? Is she tall now, or petite like me? At fourteen, she might still be shorter than me. A wave of anxiety creeps in, tighteningmy chest, so I take a few steady breaths, trying to calm the storm inside.
“Is that him?” Tina asks, nodding toward a man making his way across the field.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s him.”
“That guy managed to do in a few weeks what we’ve been trying to pull off for years?” she says with a laugh. “We must’ve been doing something way,waywrong.”
“Don’t let the frumpy appearance fool you,” I reply. “He’s the real deal—professional, experienced, and backed by dozens of successful cases. I followed up on most of the references he gave me.”
“Really?” she says, her voice tinged with surprise.
“I wasn’t about to hand over thousands of dollars without proof he could actually deliver.”
"Miss Keaton," he says in greeting, extending his hand. I shake it, immediately aware of the dampness—not in his warm, steady grip, but in mine. The nerves are definitely getting the best of me.
"Hi, Mr. Dawson," I manage, wiping my hand discreetly on my jeans. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little nervous."
"More like fighting a panic attack," Tina adds, stepping in smoothly. "Hi, I’m Tina."
They shake hands, and when Dawson smiles, something shifts. It makes him look younger, even handsome. Tina has that effect on men. Always has.
"Would you like something to drink?" I offer Dawson, reaching to open the lid of the ice chest.
"No, I'm good," he says, pulling a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and slipping them on. "Let’s see... where is this young lady?"
Tina takes my hand, standing close like she can sense how hard my heart is pounding. Together, we scan the soccer field, though I have no idea who, or what, we’re even looking for.
“There she is,” Dawson says, pointing with quiet certainty.
"Are you sure?" I whisper, barely able to breathe. "You’re absolutely sure?"
He nods. “Yes. That’s her. She’s the goalie.”
My eyes land on a tall girl guarding the goal—long blond braids trailing down the front of her uniform. She's strong. Athletic. Beautiful. And she's my sister. I know it instantly.
I recognize her in the way she stands, the tilt of her head, the way the sunlight catches her hair. It’s like my heart knew before my mind could catch up.
My eyes well up before I even realize I’m crying. Then the tears fall fast, unstoppable. My knees buckle, and suddenly Dawson’s arm is there, steadying me. Tina drops beside me, unable to hold me up, but unwilling to let me fall alone.
“That’s her,” I whisper, voice breaking as sobs overtake me. “That’s her.”
