Your Ghost

My mom picked me up from the airport at 11:58 p.m., well past her bedtime. I hopped into my sister’s gold Honda CR-V, which my mom was driving because her car was in the shop, and found her listening to an old cassette, a recording of Helen and me from when we were little.

“Listen to this,” she said smiling, and turned up the volume.

People on couch
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