“Daddy, did we used to live here?”
An innocent question asked some distance between a park and an ice cream shop. Maybe it was the butterfly that drew her attention.
An echo of shame bubbles to the surface. Memories of having to run for refuge during evictions from various homes, or the power being turned off in the Florida summer when the bill money got misspent on inebriation. Excuses made to hide the slinking back here after a night drinking. No rent money, but enough for a buzz.
“No, baby. We never lived here.”