Thursday

When Connor asked me when I’d been most scared, I told him that story. We’d been walking for about two hours now, alternating from silence to telling childhood stories.

It was a lie. Sure, before the miscarriage, that would have been true, but this was After. There was a distinctive line between then and now. My almost death at age eight seemed trivial now. Sometimes life is harder to accept that death.

“A.J.?” Connor asked. I looked up and smiled apologetically. He gave me a lopsided grin. “I said we’re at your house.”

I realized he was right. “How did you know where I lived?” I asked suspiciously, but he just pointed to the mailbox with our last name posted on the side of it. I smiled sheepishly. “Oh.”

My dreams that night were of Connor and me. We were talking at the park, playing basketball, and laughing at each of my miserably bad shots.

Reviews

[0_o Abbie]

nice.