Dakota
90 days.
“Momma, can I see my grave today?”
June flinched at the question, but recovered her composure quickly, setting Dakota’s breakfast tray across her lap and turning away. She felt the familiar burn of tears pushing behind her eyes, felt the halted breathing that would disintegrate into sobs if she didn’t stop it quickly. Taking bracing, measured breaths, she fussed with Dakota’s bedspread, smoothing it until she could distinguish her daughter’s thin legs from the folds and wrinkles.
Her girl was withering away, and June could not squash the persistent fear that she would soon begin to vanish, one piece at a time.
When the burning behind her eyes eased, she turned to face Dakota.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She helped Dakota sit up and propped pillows beh
