“Maybe is a match in the dark,” I murmur, half to myself. It’s one of Mom’s favorite sayings, for when she gets stuck on a story. She starts giving herself options, potential threads, turning every dead end into a new path with one simple word: maybe. Maybe is a rope in a hole, or the key to a door. Maybe is how you find the way out. We just have to wait for him to show up. We wait. One minute. Three. Five.
