THE NOTES ARE LOW AND winding. Thrumming, almost. A lilting tune, voiced but wordless, or else of some flowing language I don’t recognize. Soothing, yet desolate.
“I thought you couldn’t come here.” I sit up, her hand falling from my head.
The crooning stops.
“I found a way.” Susan runs a work-roughened thumb across my cheek where the imprint of her skirt is slow to fade. “The forest has little respect for walls.”
Fluffy chuckles and rolls around us, darting in to nudge her knee affectionately before resuming its joyous loops.
“So? What is it this time?” I sweep the ground up into hard, straight-edged chairs, the kind you can’t stand to sit in for long. Squishy bobs to keep its balance on my knee and burbles a scolding.
Susan searches my face, her own heavy with a sadness that harden
