The Moment Keeper by Buffy Andrews

in Olivia’s green eyes. “Oh, princess,” Tom says. “It’s not what you think. That little boy didn’t take his daddy’s eyes. His daddy still has his eyes. The lady meant that his eyes look like his daddy’s.”
    Olivia breathes a sigh of relief. “Do I have your eyes?”
    Tom runs his fingers through his hair. This is the second tough question of the night and I wonder how he’s going to answer. “No, you don’t have my eyes. But we see the same thing with our eyes.”
    Olivia smiles. His answer satisfies her – for now.
    I asked Grandma once if I had my mom’s eyes. I knew I had her blonde curly hair. Grandma had told me that. But I wondered about her eyes. We were studying dominant and recessive genes in high school and our assignment was to see how our eye color compared to our parents’. My dad had brown eyes and Grandma told me that my mom had green eyes. I was glad I ended up with my mom’s eye color. It was bad enough I had my dad’s dimples. I hated those dimples. I didn’t want to have anything of his. I had always planned to get my dimples fixed when I got older and could afford it. I had read in my teen magazine that you could get them fixed.
    “But, Sarah,” Grandma said the day I told her how much I hated my dimples. “When yousmile your dimples are like exclamation points.”
    “It’s a birth defect, Grandma,” I said in my know-it-all-teen voice. “A defect just like Matt.”
    Grandma cried when I said that. I was mean and I shouldn’t have been. But Matt was meaner and Grandma knew it. Even so, I think I broke her heart that day. She had dimples, too.
    I look at Olivia. She has dimples, too, and I don’t think they look like a defect. I think they look cute, just as Grandma thought mine looked cute.
    Ice cream drips from Olivia’s cone onto the red laminate tabletop.
    “Lick around the edges,” Tom says, placing a couple more napkins in front of Olivia.
    Tom finishes his dish of raspberry ice cream. Steam snakes upward as the waitress refills his white coffee mug. He picks it up and takes a sip. “So what movie do you want to watch when we get home?”
    “Snow White.”
    “Didn’t we watch that the last time Mommy worked?”
    Olivia nods.
    “And you want to watch it again?”
    Olivia nods again, trying to lick her cone faster than it can melt. She has been on a Snow White kick lately.
    “OK. We’ll watch Snow White, but maybe the next time we can watch something different.”
    Olivia nods.
    I know what it’s like to love a movie. I loved Bambi. It wasn’t one of Grandma’s favorites. I noticed that she always left the room when Bambi’s father told him that his mother couldn’t be with him anymore.
    “That’s kind of like my mother,” I told Grandma the first time we watched the movie. Rachel had all of the Disney movies and let me borrow them.
    Grandma put her hand to her heart. “Come again, Sarah?”
    “Bambi’s mom died like my mom, but she saved him just like my mom saved me.”
    Grandma dabbed the corners of her eyes with one of her handmade cotton hankies. “Well, I suppose in a way it is,” she said.
    “Was it my fault, Grandma, that she died?”
    “Oh, come here.”
    I jumped off the couch and bounced over to Grandma, who was sitting in her favorite rocker. She sat up straight, brushed the curls off my face, put her hands on my shoulders and lookedme straight in the eyes. “Don’t you ever, ever think that it was your fault. Your mother wanted you more than anything. When she got sick, instead of saving herself, she saved you. And just like Bambi, you’re going to grow up and experience great things. Promise me that, Sarah.”
    “I promise.”
    I had forgotten about our Bambi discussion and my promise. In a matter of seconds I had broken my promise to Grandma, and a raging fire of guilt consumed me.

Chapter 12
    Olivia and Emma approach a two-story brick house with its porch light on. Just as Olivia is about to ring the doorbell, a short woman