But I still have you, Emmaline. I still love you, I still summon you, I call you up, the vision of the way you were. The way the summer sun could make a story of your copper skin and hair. The way your freckles faded in the winter and your eyes looked tired and kinder. The way you laughed, more generous than you really were, and far too loud. Do you still laugh, Emmaline? Do you ever miss the sun?
