Again, she loses herself to quiet reflection.


alone...

Yeah. She knows the feeling.









"He pulled an onion cart."

She swallows thickly, staring out at some far-off part of the room as she remembers warmer, fonder days not that far removed.

"Grew 'em up on the other side of town, past the lake. His own secret spot; said 'the water flowed uphill.'"

She smiles wanly.

"Said lots of things like that. He always smelled sweet, like fresh turned dirt and sweet water."