Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“I have to go help my brother load the old dresser into the back of the van,” she said, looking toward the hallway. “But I will come by to say goodbye before I leave on Friday morning.”
“We will be here,” I said, rising to give her a hug. “We are not going anywhere.”
After she left, the house felt very quiet, the kind of stillness that comes when the afternoon heat peaks and the cicadas start their long hum in the oak trees outside. I walked up the stairs, my hand resting lightly on the wooden banister that Brian had sanded down the summer Olivia turned ten.
Brian was already standing in Olivia’s bedroom when I reached the doorway. He had opened the white wooden blinds, and the room was filled with a bright, clean light that made the yellow paint on the walls look almost pale.
The bed was made with the simple white quilt she had chosen herself, the corners tucked in neatly just the way she liked them. Her desk was clear, save for the glass display case we had set near the window to keep the dust off her things.
