I wondered if people still owned places after they died. Then she took us here, letting us shape her place into something that was ours. She’d grown up in the cabin, coming here with her own parents on weekends and holidays. It didn’t seem right, being here without her. It was the first time I’d gotten to make this drive in the front seat, but the view looked the same. I watched the sprawling green and yellow farmland roll past, one ocean of vegetation looking the same as the next. It took us hours to drive there from our house in Ohio Papa drove slow. I didn’t think we’d be going to Mama’s cabin in Michigan. I thought of us giggling over salami sandwiches (“more sand than wich” he’d say) and slathering on sunscreen. I thought maybe Papa and I could drive down to North Carolina or Florida, somewhere with a beach, and we could lay in the sun and both of us not talk for a while. I’d nodded and told him yes, and hugged him around the neck and waited for his arms to wrap around me. “A change of scene would be good, right?” “We’re just going to get away for a while,” Papa had said as he packed my duffel bag back home. We’d been at the cabin for four weeks now and I was starting to think we may stay here forever. Papa put my eggs on a paper plate and ate his right out of the pan. “You can’t keep them captured up for long. She’d put the mason jars out on the front porch that overlooked the lake. Mama used to call those Glimmer Fairies and we’d pretend to catch them in jars when I was little. The lake water cast reflections that glittered along the ceiling in the morning sun and it made me remember my dream again. “Sometimes.” He turned back to the nook in the wall he called the kitchen and flipped the eggs. I had woken up crying and my eyes felt crusty along the edges. Papa said it wasn’t good to keep secrets so the morning after my nightmare I told him about it.
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