The sun was the kind of warm that sinks into your bones and makes you forget the cold ever existed. It fell through the leaves of the big oak tree in Miller's Park, dappling the checkered blanket we'd spread on the grass. This was it. A normal afternoon. No running. No hiding. Just sitting.
Cane was leaning against the tree trunk, his eyes closed, a real smile on his face. Not the sharp, tactical one. A soft one. Our son was using his leg as a pillow, dozing. Josh and Jolina were arguing over the last potato chip. Leo was flipping burgers on a public grill, with Mara handing him salt. Mabel and Henry sat in folding chairs, looking at us all like we were a painting they'd finished.
It was so boring. It was perfect.
Henry took a long sip of lemonade and sighed, a happy, tired sound. "Well, kids. This has been a real trip. But me and Mabel, we got a garden that's probably all weeds by now. A porch that needs painting. A boring, beautiful life to get back to."
