There was a bonfire in the middle of the yard.
That evening, I smelled smoke.
There was a bonfire in the middle of the yard.
My father stood beside it, throwing in armfuls of my mother’s clothes.
I ran down the stairs. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up.”
Then I saw what else was burning. Her silk blouse, which she had been saving for my sister’s graduation. Shoes. Scarves. A cardigan my grandmother made before she died.
Then he held up her wedding dress.
Then he picked up the wedding dress.
I screamed, “Stop!”
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