It was our treehouse once again. Of course, we were getting too big to sit inside the treehouse, so we sat on top. Or -more accurately- we lay on top, because if we did sit, you would have hit your head on a tree branch.
You had always been quite short, but over the summer some spectacular growth spurt must have acted upon you because you shot up by about a foot. I suppose we shouldn't have been surprised, though; gradually, you were becoming the image of your father.
It was a relatively cloudy day, but relatively cloudy days are always the best for cloud watching.
"Hey, Annie," you said as your eyes trailed after a slightly disproportionate grey turtle. "Do you think there's an afterlife?"
"That's a morbid subject."
"I know." You paused. "But do you?"
I frowned. "I don't know."
"I would like to believe there is. It would be awful if everything was just grey and dreary after death."
I turned to you, caught your gaze. You were never easy to read, but at that moment, I knew exactly what you wanted to hear. "Johnny, I don't think everything is grey and dreary after you die. I think there's something brilliant waiting, a new trajectory, completely different but just as wonderful as life."
You nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "Thank you, Annie."
Later that day, after the sky cleared up, we went to lay down fresh flowers at your father's grave.
