The sun beat down on the backyard. Grass, which usually felt soft and soothing under our bare toes, felt scratchy and stiff that day. Maggie picked at the wood pile for the fire ring beside the shed. Her chipped painted nails chipped at the dry logs' bark. I brushed anthills away with the tip of a stick.
My mother told me to stay on our side of the yard. Every time I came to visit, after moving out and starting my own family, Mom said that I needed to say on our side of the yard.