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Do you recall how we came here? I do. Do you remember our family? Papa was a fisher. He used to sit both of us on his laps and chew tobacco as he told us legends of the sea. As soon as he walked in, we'd know because of the smell of saltwater.

 

Mama was a quiet lady. When she wasn't working at the government offices in the city, she spent her time playing with us and making us laugh.

 

One day, Papa came home laughing. He was holding something shiny in his hands. It was a golden locket. He promised us he'd sell it and get us a proper house in the city, instead of our old shack by the shore.

 

Weeks passed and Papa hadn't sold it. Soon, he promised. Soon. But Papa had changed. He seldom told us stories anymore. He just sat in his chair, looking straight ahead. The locket. The locket.

 

That night, Mama tucked us into bed and said she loved us both very much. Then, she walked out and the screaming began. I told you to stay in bed and cracked open the door to look.

 

Suddenly, Papa hit Mama hard. Smack. She fell to the ground. Smack. Smack. Smack. She didn't get back up. I didn't go to help. I closed the door and went back to sleep. It'd pass. It always did.

 

The next morning, Mama was gone.

 

Papa was outside, holding a shovel. He looked at us blankly and told us to go back in. Do you remember, Jack? Do you remember that day?

 

A few days later, Papa took us in his old truck and drove us to the beach. There, a man in a suit was standing next a shiny Plymouth. A Mr. William Crowley, Papa said. He's gonna be taking care of you from now on. He hugged us and took the locket out of his pocket.

 

Mr. Crowley took us over his his shoulders and carried us off to the car. We started crying. You looked out at Papa from the window, even though I told you not to.

 

What happened that day?

 

Your eyes are so very blue, Jack. Why do you look at me like that?

 

Mama talks to me in the dreams. She says it's my fault.

 

Perhaps I could have been kinder.