Fairy Dust, A Short Story

In the summers though, Momma would get distracted by her vegetable garden and planters of petunias. She didn’t get sad as often and was always humming when she made breakfast. I was free to stay down the street at Rose’s for days or even weeks on end, even Ana would join us. The three of us nicknamed Aunt Summer’s house “camp do what you want”.

Childhood summers are the very best summers of your entire life, and no one understands that better than Joe. To her, summer is a magical time where fairies can fly and no one is sad.

This and other stories are available in Ghost Country: A Novel.