1 Work in Eames
“Dad,” she says, and he offers her a lopsided grin and with a stab she remembers being three and laughing as he spun her, around and around and around in the sunshine. “Leave.”
He keeps smiling. “I can’t do that, Phil,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
“Leave,” she repeats, and her dress is fluttering and her hair is pulled back by the wind, the wildflowers dancing at her feet.