Once, this had been hers. She listened for the ghosts of her life and finally heard them. Her father’s voice singing I Shot the Sheriff, the smell of her mother’s cookies in the oven, the way baby shampoo felt in her hair—its silky fluff covering her chin in a pretend beard. Candy smiled, staring into the darkness above her. I love my mom and dad, she thought. I love you. And from somewhere deep inside a new voice answered: And they love me.
Behind the walled over door Candy heard music playing. A melancholy voice repeated the phrase Candy says. She strained to catch the other lyrics, but all she could make out was something about watching blue birds fly and letting them pass me by.
“No,” Candy thought rising and running one hand down the smooth-worn banister, “I’m done with that.”