“What an idiot,” I muttered.

Chapter 45

Venturing outside for the first time in months, Jack and I walked from our apartment to the park. It was springtime once again, and the weight of winter was starting to lift. People were emerging from hibernation to face the grey and foggy months they knew were ahead; all of us on the island were accustomed to this pattern. The earth was coming alive, smelling of dampness and rebirth, and it filled me with a sense of hope. It reminded me of a beautiful bruise oxidizing: green, yellow, blue, and then purple.

“We should take a trip this summer,” Jack suggested.

I felt a flutter in my chest. I couldn’t help but smile. “Where should we go?”

“You always talk about New York. Why don’t we go there?”

As I considered the possibilities, I heard a youthful, sing-song voice. I glanced toward the precipice of the park where I saw, sitting cross-legged beneath a tree, a little girl in a summer dress with short brown pigtails. She was singing. Encircled by yellow dandelions, she snatched one from the earth and placed her thumb beneath the flower’s head. With an effortless flick, the top popped clean off and landed on the grass nearby. She continued her ritual. I listened, closely, straining to hear her tiny voice.

Mama had a baby and her head popped off.

Mama had a baby and her head popped off.

Mama had a baby and her head popped oooooooofffffffffff.

I felt liquid climbing up my throat. Just as I turned away, vomit spewed from my mouth. Jack grabbed my hair, holding it away from my face with one hand and stroking my back with the other. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jack had this look in his eye.

When I was eight, my grandfather insisted I accompany him on his annual trip to snare rabbits. My father used to go with him when he was a boy, so when I told my parents I didn’t want to, they said it would be good for me to experience new things. Things that they had already experienced.

“Will you come too?” I asked my father, as he sat in the living room. I was dressed in my one-piece purple snowsuit, hat, mittens, scarf, and boots. I could barely bend my arms.

Glancing up from his novel, he studied my face. “No, your grandfather and I don’t get along so well anymore.” He shifted his gaze to the window, his fingers clutching the edges of his book. “You should go wait for him outside.”

I hesitated, watching my father as he continued to stare out at the trees, wondering if he would say anything else.

He remained silent.

“Okay.” I turned, heading for the door.

Snowflakes were whipping and whirling in a tornado-like pattern as my grandfather’s black pickup truck floated into sight. He pulled into the driveway, killing the engine before climbing out.