Caren Cremen

“We’re staying?” Bessie said, and it sounded like she really wanted the answer to be yes. “Yeah,” I told her. “And you’re staying with us, right?” she said. “I am. I will,” I said. “So . . . we’re home?” Roland said, so fucking confused. Both children looked at me, their huge eyes fixed on me. “We’re home,” I said. I knew it wasn’t my home. And it wasn’t their home. But we would steal it. We had a whole summer to take this house and make it ours. And who could stop us? Jesus, we had fire.”
― Kevin Wilson, Nothing to See Here