“I’m not hungry,” I said, but she had already closed the closet door, the latch clicking shut with a finality that made me shiver.
The air outside had turned sharp with the coming frost, carrying the damp scent of autumn leaves rotting in the shadows.
Rosie was standing near the withered stalks of the summer garden, her yellow sweater a bright spot against the graying fence. She pointed a stubby finger toward the hedge where a brown rabbit sat frozen under the brambles.
“Look, Cathy, look,” she whispered, her voice coming in a short, excited burst. “A little bunny, bunny.”
I took her hand, her skin warm and dry despite the evening chill. She clapped her hands against her cheeks, her eyes shining as the rabbit hopped into the deeper brush.
“Ben was here today,” I said gently, walking her back toward the gravel path. “Did he say anything special to you, Rosie?”
Rosie stopped, her cheeks turning a deep pink under her wool cap. She looked down at her shoes, twisting the hem of her sweater.
