Free How to Be Lost by Amanda Eyre Ward

We can start at the Galleria, and then work our way to Bloomingdale’s and Neiman’s. We can even have lunch…,” her voice trailed off. “Caroline?”
    I looked up. “What?” I said.
    “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
    “Oh,” I blushed, “it’s just that…well, I sort of have…an appointment.”
    My mother narrowed her eyes. “A hair appointment?”
    “No….”
    She raised an eyebrow. “A manicure?” I shook my head. Her face burst open like a flower. “A date?” she screeched.
    “Mom, it’s not really a date.”
    “Hold on!” my mother was practically shaking. She ran to the toaster. “Let me make some English muffins. I want all the details!” She expertly pulled two muffins apart and jammed them in. “Butter? Honey?” she said.
    “Sure, Mom, but there aren’t really any….”
    She held up her hand like a traffic cop. “Wait!” she cried. “Let’s wait until we have muffins and fresh cups of coffee.”
    I began to laugh. After my father’s death, my mother had grown younger, it seemed, becoming more and more like the woman he had met on a blind date, full of the spirit and energy he and Ellie’s disappearance had drained out of her. She waited impatiently for the muffins to toast, and then put them on china plates, spreading thick layers of butter and honey. She refilled her coffee cup and then mine, sitting at the kitchen table and patting the chair next to her. “I’m ready!” she said. I had never told her about a date before. I had never told her much of anything. I smiled.
    “It all began at the Christmas party,” I said.
    *
    By the time Anthony arrived, my mother had convinced me to apply Plum Passion eye shadow and Peachy Keen lipstick. She had done my nails, slid gold studs into my earlobes. Off came my T-shirt and jeans, replaced with a pastel sweater set and corduroy pants. No to the Converse high tops, yes to tasseled loafers. I heard my mother chattering as I descended the stairs. Anthony was sitting on the pink loveseat, a mug of cider in his hand and a plate of ginger cookies on his lap. “Here she is now,” said my mother, standing up, appraising me from top to bottom, and nodding approvingly.
    Anthony was wearing jeans and hiking boots.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Hey,” said Anthony. He was looking straight into my eyes, and he couldn’t seem to keep from smiling. He stood, the plate of cookies falling from his lap and shattering on the floor. “Oh, God,” he said.
    “No, no. No problem. Don’t worry!” chirped my mother, running for the broom.
    “I’m so sorry,” he said.
    “It’s OK, really,” I said.
    “Um, you look great,” said Anthony.
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. But you might want some galoshes.”
    “Galoshes?” I smiled.
    “I mean, boots. I don’t know. I thought we could take a walk. In the snow.”
    “Would sneakers be OK?”
    “Sure. I just don’t want you to ruin, um, your…penny loafers.”
    I ran into the kitchen to kiss my mom goodbye. “Why are you wearing those hideous shoes?” she whispered fervently.
    “I’ll explain later,” I told her.
    Anthony drove a truck. I climbed in, nearly splitting the seams of my mother’s expensive pants. “Are we going somewhere I can wear cashmere?” I asked. Anthony looked nervous. “Hey,” I said, “I’m kidding. My mother dressed me.”
    He raised his eyebrows and breathed out hard. He shook his head. “Holt girls,” he said.
    “Winters girls,” I said. “Did you know Madeline in high school?”
    Anthony waved to Mitchell and drove past the guardhouse, turning left. “She was a few years younger,” said Anthony, “but I knew who she was.”
    “Because of Ellie,” I said.
    “Well,” said Anthony.
    “And my dad,” I said.
    “It’s a small town,” said Anthony. He put his hand on my knee, and I did not move it. “I heard about you, too,” he said, “the wild Caroline Winters.”
    “What?”
    “You left quite an impression when you went away to