On Bainbridge Island

“Are you done crying?” he says.

“For now,” she says.

In the back, Suzy sleeps fitful in her car seat.  He watches the tiny face in the rearview, the red stain of the taffy covering her cheeks like a rash.

“I don’t think giving her sugar is such a good idea,” he says.

“I’m sure you don’t,” she says, smearing her index finger down the window, trailing the raindrops outside. “Even if it was your idea,” she adds, almost under her breath.

The line of waiting cars inches forward. “Jesus, this is taking forever,” he mutters. “We’ll never get home.”

 

 

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