thought giving my granddaughters 1 happy summer day was the least I could do after everything we’d lost. I never imagined it would end with a stranger trying to humiliate me in front of a crowded pool.
The porch boards creaked under my rocker as the afternoon sun bore down on our little patch of yard. Somewhere over the neighbor’s fence, a cicada was doing its best to remind everybody that July had no mercy this year.
I watched my granddaughters through the screen and tried, for the hundredth time that week, to remember what rest used to feel like.
Sophie, five, shrieked as the sprinkler swung her way. Dolly, eight, always the little general, was already directing her sister toward the driest patch of grass.
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