There’s a chill in the air, so I turned up the heat and fired up the gas logs. The temperature says fifty, but it feels colder. I’m sitting next to the fire and looking out the big window at the lake. I have the typewriter on my legs. Every once in a while, a sheet of rain moves across the lake that I can track until it hits the house. I kind of like that and am waiting for the next wave. The weatherman says it will clear soon and we’ll have sun all next week.
I was looking around in the attic today when I found Kimberly’s name written in crayon on a support beam, along with a picture of the sun and a flower, dated July 29, 1961. We never played in the attic because we believed we’d be attacked by ghosts as soon as we opened the door, or worse, eaten. I’ve been thinking about that ever si
