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Weekly Contest #51
I smooth Noah’s damp hair out of his eyes and kiss the freckles spread over his nose. He is asleep in his car seat before we can even pull out of the hospital car park. Emma, only fifteen months old, sucks her dummy. She does not smile. It is not yet noon. I navigate our van through the narrow streets of town, feeling edgy until they open up to the vast country roads. We are headed back to the cabin by the shore. My mind spins. I thought coming here might be a chance to regroup, to get my act together. I grew up coming here each summer. My...
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