We hit a fork in the road after about ten miles. She looked up at me with a half-crescent smile but I pretended I didn’t notice. I just kept looking forward, as if I knew something important was coming my way. But it wasn’t; I knew that. I knew we’d probably make a wrong turn and be walking here for ten more miles. She ate the raspberries and licked her fingers and giggled. We’d been walking all day and all she could think about were her damn berries. Her hair smelled nice. Your hair smells nice, I told her. She knew.
By Cara E. Schulte