For a long moment, she was silent. Then she reached into her jacket and pulled out a faded photograph—a child with a plastic toy rifle, grinning in a field of sunflowers.
"You clean it like you're afraid it might wake up," she said, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face.
"Maybe I am."
For a long moment, she was silent. Then she reached into her jacket and pulled out a faded photograph—a child with a plastic toy rifle, grinning in a field of sunflowers.
"You clean it like you're afraid it might wake up," she said, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face.
"Maybe I am."