The Morning Walk

“Come ON,” insisted Mrs. McMeen. “No time to dilly-dally on your daily constitutional.”

“Why?” he asked. He had stopped to peek through the gate at the children.

She stopped short. “Why what?” she snapped.

Geordie had a bunch of whys swirling in his head. Why can’t they stop a moment? Why can’t he watch the girls? Why is Mrs. McMeen so mean?

When they got back to the house, Geordie ran to find Granma. Mrs. McMeen called after him, but he pretended not to hear. Granma was where he thought she’d be, in the parlor, knitting.

The light sifting through the curtains, the quiet click of the knitting needles, and the sight of his Granma made him smile.

Granma looked up and her whole face smiled at him.

“The girls were jump-roping today,” he said, “but Mrs. McMeen wouldn’t let me stop again!”

A cloud passed over Granma’s face. She set down her knitting and extended her arms toward the boy. He went to her and was engulfed.

“Which house?” she asked.

He told her.

“Two girls?” she asked.

He nodded.

She went to the desk and pulled a photo of a family out of the drawer.

“Are these the girls?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “Yes. That’s Ma and Da,” he said, pointing to the parents. “You’ve shown me them.”

“And that’s you,” she said, pointing to the baby.

“But…” he puzzled.

“They all died in the fire, Geordie,” she said. “That’s when you came to live with us.”

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This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is easy: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.