The Mare

Velvet

I listened to Lydia talking about me like I was a telenovela that she cried over and got mad at. I got my own family to consider. I thought about walking with Ginger in warm dark full of smells and fireflies past houses with decorations in their yards and sounds of children in them. I rubbed the Ginger-doll key chain with my thumb, down its sharp nose, checked coat, one leg and back. Now Ginger would know it wasn’t just me talking. An adult had told her and she would have to believe.