I like the local because it has a rare bird alert-you can write in if you see something special, like a Northern Flicker or a Siberian Accentor. I fetch the newspaper from the front step. She finds a disc of sun, flings herself down and blinks in my direction. “It’s your turn to make breakfast.” She looks at me with those yellow-green eyes then pads away. My daughter and my cat won’t be in the same room. I fuss over her because when Lauren arrives later she will vanish. If there’s anything better than a cat on the bed, I don’t know about it. Olivia lands heavily on my stomach first thing, making high-pitched sounds like clockwork. So it’s already a bad day when I discover that there is a Murderer among us.
It happened by the lake, eleven years ago-she was there, and then she wasn’t. Today is the anniversary of Little Girl With Popsicle.
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