“So was that red?” she asked, changing the subject. Red? Oh, right. The night of the motorcycle ride. She wanted to know what red felt like. I scoffed. “Maybe like orange.” “Orange?” She looked appalled. “Can it at least be purple?” I laughed under my breath, walking over to her and taking the washcloth off of her. “Purple, then.” I helped her to her feet so we could get her clean, and she found her way under the water, wetting her hair.
