Reeva

“It’s time for dinner, dear.”

I close the picture book I’m looking at to answer Ruth’s call. I still don’t understand why none of my books have words in them, but they do have lovely hand-painted illustrations. Admiring them passes the time.

Stepping out of my room, I feel a draft, and I wrap my arms around myself to quiet the chill. When I step into the dining area, I notice the front door is open.

“Is there something wrong with the door?” I ask.

“The door?” she asks blankly. She turns to glance at it, then looks back at me. “Oh, I just thought the fresh air would...