❝ –– perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. and when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house—the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture—must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. and suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.
Tabitha had spent the morning playing with her dolls, but she was rather disinterested in them. She wasn’t feeling well at all; her head was all achy and so was the rest of her. Her eyes were beginning to feel tired, so the six-year-old got up and sluggishly went to find Teddy, who was home from work.
“Mommy… I dun.. fee’ too good..” Tabbi complained, her words slightly slurred, by the time she got to her mother.
“Oh, sweetie, come here.” Dropping the remote onto the couch beside her, Teddy reached over to cuddle her youngest daughter. She didn’t yet see anything amiss — it was late, and Tabbi often got cranky when she hadn’t napped during the day.
As Teddy stroked Tabbi’s lighted curls with her fingertips, she didn’t feel any signs of a fever. Tabitha had always been a resilient little girl who rarely got sick, so Teddy wasn’t worried. “Are you tired, love? Come on, I’ll tuck you into bed.”
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