Three Years LaterLeaning my head against the cool window, I let out a sigh. My breath creates a circle of fog on the passenger window of my dad’s SUV, concealing the passing blur of trees. Since we passed Lansing, trees and cornfields have been my view for the last thirty minutes. I’m estimating we have a little more than forty minutes of all things rural before we make it to Mount Pleasant.
I don’t know why the scenery is bothering me. The same landscape surrounds my parents’ house. Even though this view looks familiar, it’s not. These aren’t my fields, and they’re not my trees. None of this greenery holds any of my memories. None of it has been the backdrop of my life.
My heart aches for our tree—the old grand oak that stands tall and strong in the middle of our field of grass. Jax and
