Phil Moody crouched beside his daughter as she sat cross-legged on the wet sand, and tucked his coat around his knees. Jeez, he thought, the weather forecast wasn’t wrong about the change.
“What are you doing, love?”
Arabella had her palms pressed flat to the sand, head tilted, as though listening for something underneath.
“Saying goodbye.”
“Goodbye to what?”
“My friends.”
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‘Don’t you remember?’ her daughter asked in an exasperated fashion. ‘That trip in June when we went to the beach and made friends with those people building a fire?’
Grace’s recall was not the same since the bleed but as this memory was so important to Dahlia she decided it was worth delving into that scary, cavernous place they called the hippocampus. She rarely visited it these days due to the destruction that lived there.
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