“Describe her to me,” Hank whispers. “She’s…she…” I squeeze my eyes shut for the briefest moment, because I don’t wanna miss a second of this. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” There are no words. She’s like…waking up on Christmas morning when you’re three years old and you finally understand what it’s all about. She’s the moment the rain stops and the sun comes out, lighting up the sky with color, and everything smells new and fresh. She’s the first skate on a frozen lake, surrounded by snowy mountains and pine trees and the freshest breath of air. She’s rolling over in the middle of the night, pulling
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