Erin Stewart

“The ancient Scottish have a word: sjushamillabakka,” I say. “Where the sea meets the shore. Not quite water, not quite land. An in-between border realm.”

It’s sad.

And beautiful.

All at once.

“I didn’t mean to scare everyone.” Alice’s voice is small and tight. “It’s just, sometimes, I can’t breathe here, you know?”

I do.

I do know.

I almost say it, too.

But someone has to hold this family together.