“I should have replaced it last spring. I’m glad you’re all
right. We’ll order a nice new one.”
“The branch broke.”
“Get one with a tire!” interjected Abby.
stronger limb. Maybe on one of the younger oaks.”
“Are those getting big enough yet?” Patch enquired, now
unfrozen.
“They’re big enough for me!” exclaimed Abby.
“Well, yeah, you’re six” Jack retorted.
“That’s right. But almost seven. My friend Brittany says
side of the screen.
her mother.
“Okay.” Leaning above the six, but almost seven year old’s
head of stringy, disheveled hair, her mother and father exchanged
the universally paradoxical look of parenthood: exasperation
mingled with perfect delight.
laughing.
downward, while vainly trying to scrape the remaining tree sap
from his hands.
His voice lingered in the hinterland between emotive speech and
impassioned shouts, vainly struggling not to condescend to an
outright yell.
“Son, I’ve had enough. I can only tolerate so much. I hoped
rude to me—I honestly don’t see how you’re ever going to—”
Squinting his eyes as though trying to disappear into
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