Grace
Two hours later, we finally arrive in Willow Creek just as the first flurries begin to fall, and I instantly feel like I have been transported back in time. Back to a time when everything seemed simpler.
Staring out the window, watching my hometown blur past, has my chest tightening, but not the same as back at the gas station. This is different. This is a longing that I hadn't realized that I had been missing.
Back to when I was a little girl, climbing the hill near the elementary school with the rest of my friends. All of us piling onto cheap plastic sleds and flying down through fresh snow, pink-cheeked and breathless with laughter.
I feel Dawson shift in his seat. He is quiet but attentive, like he’s able to see all those memories of my childhood as Willow Creek rolls past
