The child, who had been running across the small gravel-paved playground toward the swingset, turns at the sound of his name. “Elizabeth,” he says happily, doing an about-face and making a beeline in her direction. She is reminded of the first time she ever laid eyes on him, a few years ago. She had been strolling through the small park in the winter dusk, huddled into a down parka, her head bent against the wind that whipped off the bay. She had assumed she had the place to herself until she followed the path around a bend, through a grove of evergreens, and came upon the child. There was something so desolate about the way he sat in the swing, barely moving, his feet scuffing the worn, muddy spot in the gravel beneath him. He had looked up, spotted her with those enormous brown eyes, and offered a halfhearted smile that melted her heart. From that moment on, Manny Souza has been her sole friend in Windmere Cove. Just as she is his. And she had fallen in love with the child long before she realized that his background was nearly identical to her own.
