Carrie didn’t answer. She slipped off her chair, walked across the grass, and climbed into the playhouse. She sat on the velvet cushion, hugged her knees, and did not cry. Not yet.
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. 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. Carrie didn’t answer
It hadn’t always been hers. Once, it had been a toolshed for the man who built the house long ago. But the roof had softened with moss, the little window had cracked like a spider’s web, and the door hung crooked on its hinges. To most people, it was an eyesore. To Carrie, it was a castle. Not yet
Carrie felt the words land in her chest like cold stones. “What about my playhouse?”
Carrie nodded. She did know. The new house would have a bigger kitchen and a bedroom for the baby brother her mother kept rubbing her belly over.