“I read it twice,” Curtis said, his voice tight. “Mom wrote that her granddaughter deserves a dress too, and that she paid for one with her own savings. Everyone in town is commenting, Nadine.” I pulled onto the shoulder, my heart pounding. Willa leaned forward from the back seat, gripping the headrest. “Put him on speaker, Mom,” she whispered. “I want to hear whatever he says.”

Curtis cleared his throat, and the line crackled. “Willa, I owe you an apology,” he said, and then his voice broke. “Brenda told me last month not to worry about your dress, that your mother would handle it. I believed her, and I let it go.” Before I could answer, a second voice came faintly through the speaker, sharp and furious. “Curtis, hang up right now. We are not discussing this.” It was Brenda.