I tip my chin up, steeling myself at the distant commotion outside as the paramedics open the front door. I don’t turn around, but after a moment, I give a slow shake of my head.īehind me, I feel her approach, but she stops several feet back as the clank of the first ambulance gurney jostles and creaks down the stairs and is carried from the house. “Did they say anything to you?” Mirai asks me with tears in her voice. The image of her white nightgown and light hair flowing through the night as she swung on it is still so vivid, because the last time was only yesterday.Ī throat clears behind me, and I finally blink, dropping my eyes. I bite the corner of my mouth, watching a green leaf flutter past the swing and land inside the tire where my mother sat countless times. So, I stayed at my window and only ever watched. But I knew as soon as they saw me the magic would change. I used to watch them out my bedroom window late at night, my father pushing her and the magic of their play and laughter making me want to be in the middle of it.

I was allowed to play on it, but my mother was the one who really loved it. I’d thought the tire swing was for me when he installed it ten years ago. The police and paramedics are busy upstairs, but they’ll want to talk to me soon, I’m sure. Walkie talkies shoot off beeps and white noise somewhere behind me while footfalls hit the stairs and doors slam above me. He always had time to push her on the swing, didn’t he? He had time for her. I stare out the window, watching the tire sway back and forth in the breeze as it hangs from the oak, and absently rub the red ribbon in my hair between my fingers, feeling the comfort of the smooth surface. No shoes by the front door or floaties in the pool. There were never any drawings in the house. The tire swing in the yard is the only thing that makes it look like a kid lives here.

Credence penelope douglas series