Carries Playhouse -

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Carrie looked back. The willow tree waved in the wind. Through the dusty rear window, she could just see the little crooked door.

Years later, Carrie would drive past that old house with her own little girl asleep in the back seat. The willow tree was still there. The playhouse was gone—torn down by a new owner who wanted a garden. carries playhouse

The night before the moving truck came, she couldn’t sleep. She crept downstairs, pulled on her rain boots, and walked to the willow tree with a flashlight. As the car pulled out of the driveway, Carrie looked back

On sunny mornings, it was a bakery. She’d sneak sugar cookies from the kitchen and arrange them on a leaf platter. She’d serve mud pies with dandelion sprinkles to her stuffed rabbit, Mr. Puddles, who was, of course, the mayor of a nearby town. Years later, Carrie would drive past that old

So she did. She swept out the dirt and dead leaves. She pulled away the old burlap sacks and found a chipped teacup with a rose painted on it. She lined the windowsill with smooth white stones she’d collected from the creek. Her mother gave her a worn velvet cushion, and Carrie set it in the corner like a throne.

The willow leaves rustled. An owl called somewhere in the distance.