Then Gwynne insisted on driving, and now here she was, standing on a glass-strewn sidewalk next to Gwynne as the smell of sewage wafted their way, and saying screw it to the socially-appropriate-for-outdoors amount of space between them and holding hands, leaning into her, staring up at a pair of eight-story buildings fronted by a circular driveway and an anemic holly tree.She didn’t recognize the building. Somehow she’d thought that seeing it again would help her remember.Gwynne pushed back Abby’s sleeve to check her watch. “When did she say she was coming?”“She’s coming,” Abby said.She let go of Gwynne and ventured onto the dirt inside the circular driveway, keeping a careful eye out for dog poop, catching herself just in time before she stepped on a tiny green luminescent fairy dancing in a patch of weeds.And then she remembered.There’d been more of them when she lived here—hundreds of them—and angels too. A shiny neighbor in a long, white nightgown had led her out of her apartment and out the front door of the building to play tag with her friends and race around the holly tree.
