My father stood up at the lake house dinner and raised his glass in fr…

like distance I was allowed to keep.

Maybe family was not a table where you waited to be counted.

Maybe family was a space you built carefully, one honest chair at a time.

I taped Marin’s drawing to the refrigerator in the cabin with a magnet shaped like a pinecone.

That night, after she fell asleep, I sat alone on the porch wrapped in a blanket. The rain continue reading …