Accept what? Death? Is that what she was saying? What did a four-year-old know about death?
I don’t want to see this.
“Don’t be afraid.” She patted his cheek with her tiny hand. “You can change it.”
Change what?
“When you fight it, you break things in here.” She patted his head. “You need to stop fighting.” The words sounded strange coming from her tiny Cupid’s-bow mouth. “Can you hear me, Uncle Danny?”
She put her hand in his good hand and he squeezed.
Was she talking about the visions? His nightmares? He’d been fighting them for so long now. He wasn’t sure he knew how to stop. He hated to see those he loved in them. Nothing but endings.
Endings. Beginnings. Mel in the midst of fireflies. He hadn’t wanted to fall in love, to create a life that would never be lived. Then he’d lost h
