Dewey reaches into the top of her sock and pulls out the little card. She scoots over on the seat until she is sitting right next to Papa, his body between her and the men with guns and the danger signs and the barbed wire. What if they find something wrong with her pass and take her away, away from Papa again?
Her hand shakes as she gives the card to the guard. The man looks at it carefully, looks at her, then hands it back. He waves them through the gate.
They drive around a curving dirt road flanked with pine trees. “Welcome home, Dews,” he says as they pass an open area with a lot of partially finished buildings. He puts one arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “Welcome to Los Alamos.”

Copyright Keri Collins Lewis 2005-2014. All rights reserved.