“Aunt Gow-die, he go ride horses wif us?” Hallie says. “I want fwends for my birfday.” This is a bad idea. This is the worst idea. “He might have to go do work things with your daddy,” Goldie replies. Yes. Yes, that. Hallie’s chin wobbles harder and a tear slips down her cheek. “Nope. Free for the rest of the day.” Once again, my mouth has not asked my brain’s permission to talk.
