CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

KATE STANDS ATOP Maiden Leap. The afternoon air is dense, weighted with thunderheads and smelling of wild onion. “It would be just my style to take a lightning bolt right now,” she murmurs. Over the past couple of weeks, she and Lucy had swapped glances around Wicasa Bluffs, and then waves, and then it felt ridiculous not speaking. So when Kate got the email with the subject line: Meet me at the Leap, a mere five minute debate waged in her head as to whether she would go.

But Lucy is late. Typical. Another reminder of the liberties she’s taken, the havoc she’s created. “Why the fuck am I giving her the satisfaction,” she whispers. “She’s probably sitting up in her crow’s nest laughing.”

Lucy stands barefoot in jeans and a black tank top. She cringes a smile and wraps arms around herself. There’s something about her today that seems as fragile as burnt sugar. She might be the same unpredictable creature she’d been twenty years ago, but now she lacks the blazing force of youth to hold her in one piece.

“So, I’ve wondered about something for a long time.” Kate stares back out over the St. Croix, to the thatch of trees hugging Riverton; she can make out the Objibwe burial mounds from here. “Did Wicasa jump for love? Or freedom?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Lucy says. “Maybe when you’re an imaginary Indian princess it’s hard to tell the difference. So, how’s Erik handling things? And the kids.”

“Yeah. Thought we could have a picnic up here,” Lucy squints at the fast moving sky, “but it’s probably safer indoors.”

“Never safe around you,” Kate says under her breath as she joins Lucy and they walk toward the Gainsborough. “Where’s Bridget?”

“Well, we had this one up in the corner of the dining room and it freaked out our supper guests. If I’d just left it alone, we’d have been fine but Mom made me chase it all around with a butterfly net. And then she starts screaming that it’s gonna pee in the gazpacho. So then it got tangled and was screeching and everyone was running to their rooms and packing their bags.”

“I’m no expert,” Kate says, “but I think every time you catch and release one, it just flies back in. And they’re endangered so you can’t kill them either.”

“You gotta seal off their den with these little one-way doors so they can only get out. And then hope they find another home. I know a guy who does it, give you his number.”

Lucy taps the thermostat, turns up the ceiling fan, and walks around opening windows. She leans against the towering archway between the front parlor and dining room.

“Six months probably. I have to testify on some Sojourn stuff in Texas. And then there’s this group of women writers, poets, performance artists. They’re going on tour this fall to combat climate change. I’m going to manage them into the new year. Got the connections.”

So Lucy was already done with LGBTQ rights and on to saving the planet. God help the planet.

“Wish I didn’t.” Kate sighs through bared teeth. “Lucy do you even understand how much you’ve put me through? And now, my family? My kids. No—I am fully aware how much blame I deserve—but do you even grasp the full impact of your little charade? Both of them?”

“You can’t possibly. You don’t even know how hard it was for me after you left town. Two years, Lucy. Two looong years of high school. High school. You know how kids are.” The blood pounds in Kate’s skull and her eyelid twitches. “All the talk and the jokes behind my back? Having to prove to Gary over and over again that I wasn’t creepin’ on his sister?”

Lucy winces, fingers wiping something invisible from her mouth. “I’m sorry for how I handled it back then. But I’m not sorry about us.” She paces the Oriental rug, straightening its tassels with her toes. “If I could go back and only be your friend and let things take their course, you know? If we could have somehow waited. I know women that fell in love in high school and didn’t officially date until they were eighteen. Why didn’t I just—?”

“Because you’re Lucy. And I loved the way you romanced me. But you shunned me after that. At First Ave. Remember? I tried to call you so many times after I graduated. Is it because I never stood up for you?”

Lucy looks sourly at the floor. “Um, yeah. A little. Guess I hoped you would sacrifice yourself for me. Somehow. It’s like, I jumped. And . . . you weren’t there.” She cringes, disgusted with her self-pity. She sighs. “And then the older I got I realized how impossible it had been for you and then it became all the more embarrassing to come back. You were everywhere—on the streets, by the school, in the fields. On the Leap.” She glares at Kate now. “In the park. By bikini tree.” Her searching eyes and sharp intake of breath proves it happened. That night was not a dream. Not imagined.

“And then,” Lucy says, “you did what any normal person would do. You met someone better.” Her chest heaves and she shakes her head, refusing the tears.

They stare dumbstruck at each other. We won’t cry about this anymore. Because that’s what platonic girlfriends do: they cry and makeup and dab their eyes and laugh and exchange little patting hugs and then go home to their husbands and forget all about it. But we’re not quite that. Are we? We are a lifetime thing.

“I think I—” Kate says. “I came up here for the same reason you asked me.”

“Kate.” Lucy says the more mature name so quietly it’s only a small wet click in the middle of her mouth. “Slow down.”

“It’s already been twenty years. How much slower would you like?” She steps forward. “Let me see your feet. You never showed them to me.”

“Wut?” Lucy backs toward the wall and into a floor lamp, and fumbles to right it. Kate goes to her, bends down, clasps Lucy’s ankle, and gently pushes it backward, bending Lucy’s leg back and up at the knee until her calf meets her thigh, then the other. As if she were inspecting a horse’s hoof. Lucy places a hand on Kate’s shoulder for balance. A few blades of grass and the indents of pebbles cross the scars, but the white hashmarks are there on the left foot, fainter on the right, as if toddler Lucy had raised that one up, hoping to take flight.

Kate slowly climbs the length of her and gently presses her forehead to Lucy’s temple.

Lucy looks to her then and whispers, “How does one pity the goddess?” The corner of her mouth turns up.

Lucy stops her hand. “They’re gone. Silicon. Really. They—you don’t want, just—”

Lucy bites her lip, the hard plank of her belly clenching. Kate waits for her to relax and slowly pulls up the tank.

From Lucy’s bellybutton grows a vine of ink that splits in two and becomes an amazing inferno of green fire and black thorns. With her fingertips, Kate traces the tattoo as it weaves and winds up, over and around two nippleless mounds, crossing but not obscuring two five-inch long scars, which are still purple in parts, still healing. It’s difficult not to get lost in the confusion of it, the defiance of expectation—what Lucy sees every time she looks in the mirror.

Kate pulls the tank on up and over Lucy’s head, exposing the short, wine-colored scars in Lucy’s left armpit, where a masked marauder in white stole her lymph nodes. Kate raises that arm and lays her first kiss there. Lucy exhales into Kate’s hair and her fingers thread into Kate’s curls, pressing and tugging at her scalp, as if this the first time someone has done this.

HOW LONG HAD she been kissing Lucy’s soft intent mouth? Five minutes? Fifteen? Fifty? Kate hasn’t been this wet since her twenties. Their quiet moans are a song she hasn’t heard in ages. When was the last time she had sex in daylight? She hadn’t wanted Erik to see the aging body of a mother. He stopped wanting her to see his face when he came. But now that’s exactly the point on this day. To break the membrane of mystique, to ruin it, to wallow in whatever awkward mess spills forth. Defang the beast.

Lucy rolls off the wall shivering. She takes Kate’s hand and leads her up the stairs, holding tight to the thick oak banister.

Lucy’s room is like an antique hotel room, a transient’s nest, with open suitcases half-packed and toiletries strewn across the old dresser. Under the influence of desire it’s merely a whirl of southern sunlight and scents: leather and wood polish and patchouli (of course, because that stuff never goes away).

Lucy brings her to the tarnished brass bed and pushes back the rumpled crazy quilt.

They climb up onto the tall mattress, slide across the cool sheets, rise up on their knees, and face each other. How easy it is. This undressing. This entwining. This skin on skin. Why is this enough to wreck a home? Maybe because there is as much of a stranger here before Kate as the girl she once knew. A face lined with knowledge, no longer innocent. A lithe body at once familiar and foreign. Lucy’s soft skin is still pale but the mole at her collarbone is larger than it used to be. Her hips are still teardrop shaped but her baby fat is long gone. She’s thin enough for the cool clothes but too thin without them, needs a solid month of home cooking.

Kate gently throws her weight forward, pressing Lucy down and kissing her concave belly. The skin of her thighs is as silky as it used to be. She makes Lucy come twice in quick succession, her cries inspiring, her scent maddeningly delicious. It’s nearly too late to savor her own climax by the time Lucy rises up, flips Kate onto her stomach, her hands deft, stealing back everything that was once so briefly hers. With her cheek mashed into a goose-down pillow, Kate watches their fading glory in the wide mirror over the dresser. And with Lucy’s every stroke a year’s worth of tension melts away until a soft explosion floods Kate’s body and mind.

Outside, rain pours perfectly vertical in thick drops. It spatters on the sill and drips onto the floor.

KATE WAKES FROM their catnap to Lucy staring at her in the copper light of the newly exposed sunset. Kate pulls back the quilt and runs her fingers over Lucy’s new breasts. They are cool to the touch, the ink of the tattoos fresh and bright, not yet bleeding out of the black outlines.

“Although, when I see you touch me like that, I can feel it in my head.” Lucy closes her eyes. “I could have some shaped, but they wouldn’t feel the same. I sure wish you’d gotten to know them. Before. They were pretty awesome.” She reaches down, and with slow reverence, strokes a hand across the soft bulge of Kate’ belly, across the stretch marks left by birth.

“S’okay. I’m clear. Or I will be in three more years.” She raises her arm, makes a fist then shakes her fingers out. “That’s why you caught me with that sleeve on. It aches some days and I have to protect it from infection.”

“Eh, I haven’t told her. Losing Dad’s too fresh. Although on some level I suppose she knows. We talk around it. The Van Burens are prone to growing stuff, we run rampant even on a cellular level.” Lucy chuckles. “Sometimes I wonder what cancer my brother would have ended up with if he’d made it to middle age.”

“Do you ever think about the people who you’ll see die?” Kate asks. “And the ones who’ll see you die?”

THAT EVENING IN the kitchen, Kate mixes up a rich waffle batter with canned peach chunks and pecans then pours it into the steaming iron. She proudly presents a stack neither of them could possibly finish.

But Lucy stands rigid, staring upward. Kate waves a hand in front of her face, then traces her line of vision up in the corner of the tin ceiling.

Lucy resolutely walks from the room and returns wearing a raincoat, bicycle helmet, and wielding a broom. Kate scoffs and volunteers for duty, wearing only an oven mitt. They make an awful racket dragging over first a stepstool, then a chair, and finally a ladder. She climbs it, Lucy supporting her legs, and pulls the little flying fox off the wall. They stand looking at the terrified creature, Lucy peering over Kate’s shoulder. Sorry dude, Lucy says. And then Kate releases the bat out the back porch.

Starved by the day’s events, they greedily fill themselves up with waffles and maple syrup and fresh butter and whole milk. Kate calls the Larsons’ voicemail. There are no messages. Lucy takes the quilt from her bedroom, throws it over one shoulder and they walk hand-in-hand out to the clearing next to the lookout point.

They talk into the night about their parents: Lucy’s father, Kate’s discovery of her mother and the Robeson boy. The moon rises.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you about that,” Lucy says. Kate turns to her as Lucy stares at the dome of heaven. “Since I got back, Mom and I have been talking, going over stuff about Dad and the kid who jumped off the Leap.”

“Yeah. After that night happened with Jamie and Maddox, I started to wonder if maybe Marcus didn’t actually jump. Or maybe if he did, maybe my dad was there.”

“Mom said Marcus was a sweet guy,” Kate says quietly. “A smart guy. Do you think your dad had it in him to do that?”

“Man, I wish I could say he didn’t. I asked Mom and of course she brushed me off, but she had that look.” Lucy turns to Kate to show her the hollow stare. It gives Kate a chill. “It’s been the dirty little secret of their generation. But, Kate. The other thing is.” She looks back at the sky and sighs. “Dad called two guys fairies when I was coming out. And last week, Mom confirmed who the other guy was. He was friends with Marcus. Close friends. Real close.”

“Who?” But Kate knows. It makes perfect sense now, who Claudia saw change. “Can’t be. Bert was already dating Claudia when it happened.”

“You could have gotten pregnant too. Claudia was Bert’s beard, like Gary was yours.”

Kate clasps a hand to her mouth, contemplating the circumstances of Erik’s parentage. If Bert saw his lover die, he probably thought that was in store for him too. She remembers the shame she felt. His would have been even worse thirty years previous. She sits up. “Oh my god, you’re going to out him.”

“No. No. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I considered it before our photo in the newspaper. But no, I didn’t even tell Simian Avengers because I knew they would use it. I knew it would be the final straw for your family. And really Sojourn is going down. I don’t think Claudia is going to win this marriage thing either. It kinda felt like overkill, yunno?” Lucy searches the air. “Anyway, could be Marcus jumped because Bert chose Claudia. Could be my dad and some other guys pushed him. We’ll probably never know.”

They talk about Daniel’s death on the Bonnie Saint. How she probably had PTSD the whole time they knew each other in high school. They talk about the search for justice as a veneer for revenge, never quite fulfilling any need, and that love seems to be the only obvious answer in the world. Lucy says she doesn’t believe in God, never had really, though she wishes she could. Kate believes in something, perhaps a God borne of human imagination or something that defies imagination with no beginning or end. One thing is for sure, it cares little about their struggles, at least not in a human way. Unless God is simply love.

Kate lies back down beside Lucy, gazing into her moonlit face, her searching eyes. How easy it is to ponder everything and nothing again, the biggest things and smallest, as if Lucy had just finished telling the story of Wicasa and Chelee. Lucy’s hand slides up Kate’s wrist, her palm filling Kate’s. Their fingers intertwine and silently speak as if these hands are autonomous. This is our place, our clearing, no one else’s. Lucy’s fingers smooth Kate’s flesh and walk up and down, pressing into the tender middle of a palm that arches beneath it.

Kate says she finds it hard to imagine Lucy stuck in a hospital bed and wonders who was there for her. Was it her drummer, Tamara? Yes. She even tried to marry Lucy in San Francisco. But it wasn’t Lucy’s thing, kids or picket fences. Why would she bring more Van Buren DNA into this world or subject adopted children to the Veebee madness? This squashes a notion Kate had compiled over the years fed by what she saw other lesbians doing . . .

. . . A notion of young Lucy having stayed put in Minneapolis for her. Kate going to vet school at the U. Riding on the back of Lucy’s Harley in the Pride parade. Those years dressed as a peasant girl, working the scotch egg booth at the Renaissance Festival while Lucy hawked non-refundable Tarot readings. The vicious arguments they’d have, unhindered by the marriage sacrament and Kate’s resulting escape back to Wicasa Bluffs to cry on Mom’s shoulder until Mom and Dad moved to Florida. The affairs Lucy had with her groupies but then the drama-filled coming back together and buying the bungalow in Powderhorn Park. The insemination. The kids that resembled Sam and Brace, but not quite them—a little like Mark because he gladly delivered sperm to their house when her follicles were dilated. Getting Lucy into rehab. Watching Lucy play in the park with their Not Sam and Not Brace. The big, reclining chemo chair in the cancer center that swallowed Lucy like a child. The pain pills. The nights spooning Lucy, the nights facing away from her. Every night until the end.

Before they walk back to the house, she casts the old fantasy out over the Leap. It’s different now. Today transformed everything. For better or worse.

Kate senses her largest marital transgression that night is to actually sleep in Lucy’s bed. Or at least try to. Instead of Erik’s large comforting sighs, Lucy occasionally whimpers and then tosses around. The only thing that quiets Lucy is holding her, which Kate gladly does but not without thinking of others she has comforted. She sees Erik alone in the rustic log bed with straps for springs, underneath their scratchy Hudson Bay blanket, sleeping sound despite the loons on the lake hooting their crazy warbles. Brace and Samantha are nearly tumbling out of the bunk beds that they’d earlier fought over. Chuck’s nails are scratching the wood floors as he dreams of chasing rabbits.

AFTER SUNRISE, SHE quietly raids the fridge and fries up a potato hash with ham, bell peppers, sea salt, and thyme, generous amounts of oil. Lucy shuffles in, hugs Kate from behind, and kisses her neck.

On the burner next to the hash, Lucy sautés some morel mushrooms she’d hunted down in the forested section of her acreage the day before. They dance around each other at the stove and then slow dance for real. Then Lucy tries unsuccessfully to squeeze two full glasses of juice from a half dozen oranges.

“They’re lining Claudia up for a run at Washington,” Lucy says as they sit down to eat. “You knew that right?”

“Yeah, she is considering it.” Kate nods. “Erik and I wish we could stop her. But you can’t tell her anything. She’s a force.”

“I really wanted to hug you that day at the capitol, when you stood up to me and Claudia. I was so proud of you. I’m sorry I dragged everyone into this.”

“We were already into it, Luce. I just hope for all your efforts, we win the vote.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me,” Kate says. “So, is Tamara still in town? I’d like to meet her sometime.”

Lucy clicked her tongue and nodded. “She knew about what happened between us but I think it kinda took her aback when she actually saw us together. She thought I could come here as an ex-gay and that would provide some sort of barrier I guess. She’s really a good person though. Strident. Reminds me of you.” She grins. “Tam’s the glue. The strong one. She always figures out the details.” She laughs. “Hell, she was willing to help me see you again if it would set things right.”

Kate reaches across the table, and Lucy meets her fingertips. They close eyes. There it is. The pounding pulse. A breeze blows in through the back porch screen and lilts their hair.

They make love in Lucy’s big clawfoot bathtub, giggling under the tap stream until the water runs cold. Then they dress quietly and walk downstairs to the parlor.

At the porch steps, Kate turns back, walks into the room, and picks up the acoustic guitar from its stand by the fireplace. “Sing me to the car. I haven’t seen you play in years.”

Lucy nods. “Got something new, actually. Still working out the lyrics.” She strums the guitar, alternating with finger-plucked leads.

I fall asleep dreaming of Maiden Leap, Maiden Leap.

Arms spread wide, I step off. Falling slow, falling slow in flashes.

Stomach lurch, building speed. Head turned down, to auger in.

But then I catch the upward draft. Sailing out, sailing out o’er the river.

Low and fast, out and proud. Beneath the bridge, back up again.

Climbing out, out of the rift—the glacier’s rift that the angels missed.

Up and up and up and up and up and up and up and up.

Cross the prairie, cross the land. Aim it West, overdressed.

Cross the prairie, cross the land. Aim it West, under-blessed.

My shadow paints, so briefly paints,

My shadow paints the world.

At the car, Lucy leans on the door and closes her eyes as she strums the last chord.

It is this one simple song, above everything, that tells Kate this woman will be all right. As long as she can conjure the music, she will keep on emerging into something new. And ever unbreakable.

Lucy slips the guitar from her shoulder and lets it slide down to the grass. They hold each other. All is silent but the birds. Kate tries not to kiss Lucy too deeply, knowing it will only start something they have no time to finish. It is one of those moments when you know, something very bad could happen—another car crash or an awful diagnosis—but at the same time you know everything is complete and all is as it should be, because nothing was left unsaid, nothing left undone.

After Kate starts the car, Lucy taps on the window and steals one more kiss. She knocks twice on the roof, grabs her guitar, and walks off toward the Leap.

WHEN KATE PULLS into the drive, Erik’s truck is already there. The engine is still pinging and presses heat at her face when she walks past it. No one is in the house. She makes her way to the sliding glass door. Erik is sitting out in the yard, worshiping the sun. Chuck comes to her and licks her face.

Her breath comes shallow, her shoulders tense. It’s growing humid again, the ozone thick in the air. “Hi,” she says with a smile and kisses Erik’s bald spot. “What’d you catch?”

Kate pulls a deck chair up to Erik’s and clasps his hands. Their knees touch. She stares unflinchingly into his icy Larson light blues, steeling herself for the hurt and the blooming hate.

She looks down for a moment. “I’m not ashamed, Erik. And I won’t apologize for it. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

He stares up to the sky and collapses back in his chair. “Oh. Okay. Good job. You want a gold star?”

Kate swallows hard. “I want her in my life somehow. You and I would have to agree on how much.”

“I’m not your father. I’m not here to dole out permission.” Erik remains calm. His anger of the last few weeks tamped down. “These weren’t our vows, Kate. And I feel like you’ve been trying to warm me up to this for months, to let me down slow.”

“I’m not trying to let you down. And you can’t leave me for this. I know you can’t. I’ve never seen the world clearer than I do right now. You and I are so good together. But it’s not natural to pretend we don’t want and need another love sometimes. It just isn’t. All these ugly divorces, all these public humiliations, they’re so unnecessary.”

“Oh, are they? What a great kid they turned out.” His eyes sharpen cruelly. “What if I told you I slept with Jennifer the week before you and I married.”

“Yes. I did. It was our last goodbye.” Erik winces at himself. “Wasn’t the best time for it and it wasn’t all that great, but we did it.”

She huffs once and glares at him. “Wow, you shit.” She knows her anger about this will grow, but how clever of him to mention it while she’s unarmed. She almost admires him for it.

“Yeah, and you know what,” he asks. “It made me feel like shit. Has haunted me for years.”

“But first it made you feel alive,” Kate says. “Like maybe you could have any woman that wanted you because that’s what you were made for. As if you were finally whole and present in this world. A sexual being. Not just a civilized animal.”

“No, that’s the way it makes you feel apparently. I felt like a shit. And thanked my lucky stars until now that you never found out.”

“Well, if Lucy had showed up at the moment, I don’t know what I would have done either. The point is, she and I would have never worked like you and I do. She isn’t the best thing that ever happened to me.” Kate sits back. “But all the same, she did happen to me. And she needs me and I want to be needed by her.” Kate strikes her chest. “She’s a part of this and it feels more warped to shut her out than to let her in. Life’s too short.”

“We are. And maybe that’s all it’ll be when she gets back, maybe anything more would feel awkward and forced. Maybe we’ll just hang out sometimes.”

“And maybe not. Maybe you’ll never be home and the kids will be like, ‘hey Dad is it Mom-fucks-Lucy day?’ ‘Yeah, kids, you need her to pick up anything at the store when she’s done sitting on Lucy’s face?’ Listen, I’m sorry for what the adults did to you girls. And I’m sorry I didn’t listen sooner. But I don’t want to hear any more maybes out of you.” He waves her off with a grumble. She knows he’s disgusted with the effect she has on him. His voice lowers again. “It just makes a mess, Kate. I don’t think this marriage could survive something sustained like that.” And he says it as if measuring Taken4Granite’s competition in a global economy. “I haven’t even had a chance to process the one time.” He looks around. “What happened to the woman I married? Jesus, who am I going to retire with?”

He looks somewhat nauseated. “Just imagine what they’re all going to say.”

“What they’re already saying? And have all my life? I am absolutely done with the Senator Larson Family Values Circus, Erik.”

“Yeah, that’s right. You’ll go door-to-door this fall, arguing for Mark and Ray’s marriage. And what are you going to tell our neighbors about your own?”

She doesn’t know what to say to this. Like his mother, he’s an efficient debater and right at the most inconvenient times.

“Did you even think to ask how many partners she’s had? Whether she has anything transmittable?”

“Wonderful,” he says and sighs through his nose, picks at his nails, lips pinched tight. Even so, the fury seems low in him, perhaps having known this could happen the moment he and the kids left for the cabin.

They sit silent for a few minutes, Chuck all flat in the grass, exhausted, soaking up the sun. A mourning dove calls to its mate from the power line, in that sad coo that’s somehow nostalgic. Another monogamous species, according to Samantha, adapted to fit a short life filled with predators. Getting to fly, she’d said, must surely offset the occasional malaise.

How spoiled and reckless I have been, while there are people on this planet really struggling. And yet this only makes Kate savor it all the more, sensing she should not squander whatever sideways wisdom comes from this weekend. A better wife, mother, friend, daughter-in-law? At least one less meek. She had torn apart the family quilt and had finally grown up.

Kate feels Erik’s eyes on her again. “Well?” He sits back, a dimple in his cheek. His tanned arms crossed and biceps bulging.

At first she tries to hide the private joy, the sense of completion that’s been bubbling under the surface since yesterday. But there’s nowhere left to hide.

She has always shared her thoughts with this man. What is marriage otherwise? Only a vessel for raising kids? No. Erik is her closest friend. Her confidant. Her wingman.

“What time is it?” She asks and licks her lips. There would need to be a few adaptations, but she might be able to pull it off. She’ll certainly sleep well tonight.

Brace would not be home from work until six and Samantha would probably hang at Jamie’s until suppertime.

“Come on.” She stands and runs fingers through his hair. “I’ll show you.”

Restart button pushed. I owe my life to Vicky’s family. They did for me what my own could not.

It was touch-and-go for a bit, but I think Vicky’s daughter is more anthropologist than astronomer. Kid could probably write a masters thesis already on the naked ape. Can’t believe I could actually learn something from someone so young. She taught me that before I fly off to the outer reaches, I have to deal with the pack. After all, the stars have waited eons. They can wait a bit longer.

For the first time in my life I’m not so eager to buckle into an airplane seat. I’m already missing home, now that I know where home is.

Posted by Liesl ~ 6:10 PM ~ Comments closed