Just inside the pasture, to the right of a wide swinging metal gate, Dad planted a large garden. It included a wide variety of vegetables in neat rows, and we were impressed when he told us his family’s garden on the farm in Minnesota was much larger—a whole acre.
Everything about our new surroundings felt magical—a spell that would expire, wishes granted, enchanted eggs, poisoned apples, royalty in disguise. We were leasing the house and land, but they were actually for sale. They hadn’t sold after being on the market for some time, so our aunt, a real
Our new house was in many respects underwhelming. It was an older ranch home, yellowing white with seafoam green shutters. It boasted a small front porch with peeling white railing, but the side door was much more accessible, so we always used the long flight of crumbling concrete steps
We moved into our new house in Virginia on April 9, Dad’s birthday. It rained the entire day—a chill, gray drizzle falling from a thick, sour cream sky. Preceding the moving truck, we turned into the long, paved driveway, each of us in an agony of anticipation. We missed
Maple trees mean goodbye. My little brother stood in front of me, dying. A jagged, red streak zigzagged down his face from just below his fuzzy white-blonde hair, down his forehead, and past his chin where blood dripped to his feet. His skull had split wide open. I froze,