MY MOTHER WAS a worrier. She speculated endlessly about whether her pie would be considered the best at bake sales or if the ladies at the hairdresser truly liked the way she kept her hair. She worried about whether my manners were good enough to make me stand out among the local children.

But her worry didn’t seem to extend to my safety. I was able to wander our little town of Briggs as I pleased. There wasn’t really anywhere for me to get in trouble. One pub, a local grocer and a park in dire need of an upgrade were about the extent of my choices beyond the tiny school.