I went home full of love for a massive piece of furnture I'd forgotten until now. A gigantic mahogany highboy with drawers and doors and a beveled-edge mirror that shone little erratic rainbows on the hallway floor. It always stood in that poorly-lit back hall at Boorman House, and I wanted to give it somewhere with real light, sunlight to seep into the wood and make it glow. My father said Honey, we sold it at the auction, don't you remember? I hated him for it, I cried, I knew there was no way to get it back, ever.
(that one was a true dream, I mean, we did sell it.)
She kept wanting me to look at the photos from her cheap little 110 camera. I had other things to do. She was 4, how great could her pictures really be? I should have known by the way she insisted about how her hair should be, this kid knew how things should look. They were all good pictures but the one that made me want to steal it was of her face, and Megan's, leaning over the camera, their red and gold hair swirling around each other in a warm curly waterfall.
what is this, where are we, where did you leave the car, we'll have to grab something to eat on the way, we're late, the cops ain't gonna like this.