Lucy sat in her wooden chair with a box of twenty-four new crayons spread open across the table.

A big sheet of thick white drawing paper lay in front of her, crisp and unwrinkled at the corners.

I went over to the living room armchair and picked up the red plush rabbit by its soft middle.

Its left ear would always be flattened from its time in the dark pantry, but the torn seam along its back had been stitched closed with double white thread.

I carried the rabbit into the kitchen and set it upright on the sunny wooden windowsill right above the sink.