It’s that kind of day where you pray for a whisper of a breeze to kiss the beads of sweat that sting your eyes. You don’t move a muscle, lying on the dock, fingers trailing in tepid water. The lump of a secret too huge to swallow grows in your throat until you think you’llContinue reading “There’s a Fist-Sized Hole in the Kitchen Window”
Through the boredom in the quiet
He’d start to softly sing.
Dad gives no signs of noticing, pecking away at his laptop on the well-worn sofa in the family room that’s been more solitary room this week.
He had gone away years before. Away, as in not there, not where Miranda was, not around when she needed him—or someone, anyone—to be in her corner.