She’d been in Seattle for fifteen years, and she did think of it as home. But Maine was where she was from, where she was made. She was made as a ten-year-old asking her brother to come over and help lift up a rock so she could see the starfish and hermit crabs and sea urchins. She was made watching live lobsters wherever she could, which was practically everywhere. Not because she liked to eat them, but because the segments of their bodies and their deep brown armor were like nothing she’d ever seen outside of the world of bugs.
