The Spot
It was nine days before prom when Maya held her hand up to the bathroom light and went quiet.
“Mom, come look at this.”
I was halfway through a stack of laundry and a mental list of things that still needed doing: the dress hemmed, the corsage ordered, the photographer confirmed. I glanced at her thumbnail. There was a small, chalky white spot near the base, about the size of a grain of rice.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said. “You banged it on something.”
“I didn’t bang it
