Miss Hawksbill made me achingly sad. Partly because her pain was so visible: It was evident in the slouch of her shoulders, the grooved lines around her eyes. But mostly because I understood. How many people would spend their lives among shades and ghosts, were they able? Every parent who’d lost a child, every lover who’d lost a mate: If they had the choice, wouldn’t most do the same? We’re all riddled with holes, and there were days when I would’ve done anything to patch mine, if just for a while.
