“Do you remember how you always provided me with the motivation to push you higher?” said Margaret in a trembling voice.
Lisa smiled. “You warned me not to go too high, and then you pushed it harder than ever. I screamed every time.”
The memory hung between them, sweet and heavy.
A few minutes later, Margaret frowned. “Did we miss the turn?” she asked. “San Pines should have been over there.”
“We’re not going there today, Mom,” replied Lisa, a slight smile playing on her lips.
Margaret’s heart sank. “So where are we going?”
“Just a little more effort. We’re almost there.”
Ten minutes later, the car turned down a quiet, tree-lined street that Margaret didn’t recognize. The houses were old and charming, with well-kept gardens and large trees. Lisa slowed down and parked in the driveway of a pretty blue cottage with white paneling, its large veranda adorned with planters.
“Here we are,” said Lisa, switching off the engine.
Margaret stared at him, perplexed. “Where… are we?”
“At home,” Lisa replied.
