When she finally wound down and said good night, I watched her climb the stairs wearing her red-and-white voter-registration dress, and I wished again that I’d been there. Regrets don’t help anything, August had told June, you know that. I ran up the stairs and grabbed Rosaleen from behind, stopping her with one foot poised in the air, searching for the next step. I wrapped my arms around her middle. “I love you,” I blurted out, not even knowing I was going to say this.
