![]() ![]() We’re moving, maybe from Seattle to San Francisco? I can’t line them all up. She’s bright-eyed in the memory, years before the cancer fishhooked her. I grin and toss my head, but I’m seeing Frances. “Nowhere to hide,” I say, stroking Slow Henry, the cat purring in my lap. There’s not a building in sight, not even a barn, just the forever grass. It’s too near the bone because I truly can see for miles. They’re all sneaky drums and sharp guitar. I squash that thought, rubbing one of the wounds so hard the scab cracks, leaking crayon-red blood into my pantyhose.ĭeck’s tapping his fingers along to “I Can See for Miles.” The radio’s been blotchy the last half an hour, but the music is clear as water now. The specter of permanence makes the landscape as welcoming as the moon. ![]() Driven through the countryside, to be sure, but never with the intention of making it my home. The skyscrapers and stores of Minneapolis almost immediately gave way to lonely swaths of prairie, only the occasional farm to give scale to the emptiness. ![]() ![]() We packed up our tiny apartment within days, and here we are, humming along the road to a new life. After a childhood of moving from one city to another, the idea of settling down with Deck, of belonging, well, it suddenly sounded all right. ![]()
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