81 She blinked those big, brown eyes and turned her huge head toward me. I leaned forward, and she pressed her forehead to mine. She was warm and she smelled like straw. So I did something I thought I would never, ever do. I whispered something, very quietly, to her. I said, “I like your name. My little sister’s name was Lucy.” And she blinked those big eyes again, like maybe she understood. And she was quiet, which was just what I needed. December 24, 5:00pm This morning, as I put five strips of bacon onto my plate, Mom asked me, “Where did you go, on your walk yesterday?” “I went up the hill to the stables,” I told her reluctantly. For some reason, I feel like that should be my place, not ours. “Would you like to take me?” she asked, reading my face. “Or, is there somewhere else you want to go?” I remembered passing the welcome center on my way to the barn yesterday. I told Mom that maybe we could go there. And so we stepped out of the cabin, me and Mom, side by side. At the front desk, Mom bought two cups of hot chocolate, one for me and one for her. Then we took the stairs up to the gift shop. We stayed there for hours, Mom and I. We drank our hot chocolate as we looked at every single thing.
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