16 SEPTEMBER 1972
SATURDAY, MID-DAY
Esther leaned back against the bench, her expression half-hidden behind the dark sunglasses perched on her nose.
The sun was out—bright, uncharacteristically warm. A perfect day. Judging by the crowd of bodies, the rest of the town had drawn the same conclusion. Any glimpse of
life in this dreary country sent people spilling out like a swarm of bees shaken from their hive, eager and desperate for sun.
(Esther was no exception. Clearly.)
Her gaze caught on a family ahead. A small boy, stumbling yet undeterred in his avid pursuit of a fluttering butterfly. A woman watched on, her smile soft. As if she were watching the most breathtaking thing imaginable in this world.
When in fact, it was just a toddler.
Esther nearly scoffed, the sound catching in her throat. She ignored the strange pull in her stomach.
Soft, exploring fingertips brushed her arm; a shudder curled up her spine, and she opened with it. The pressure in her chest eased, her mouth softening into something that could almost be a smile. She tilted her head toward the presence at her side, catching wisps of brightened blonde and an even brighter smile.
Monty was looking back at her.
Her hand moved to catch Monty’s, fingers interlaced.
No matter how many years had elapsed, the feeling struck the same way—an aching warm, a lightness that felt like coming up for air.
Esther studied her for a moment, her thumb drawing circles into Monty’s skin. The words bubbled up before she could think better of them. “You like kids,” she stated flatly—an observation, not a question.
