Huck and I are cuddled up in the big brown chair. His hair is getting long again, all rumpled curls on top. Face a little dirty, because it’s after nine in the morning. Big sweet eyes smiling up at me, waiting for a story.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a boy named—”
“ACID FIRE,” he interjects.
I Always Suspected that Cheery Demeanor Was a Ruse
Sometimes These Things Just Write Themselves
Beanie, Aged 6, Already Grappling with the Challenges of Aging Parents