He dreamed of his mother again.
Not a shadow or a blur - her, the way memory keeps someone when you do your best not to forget. The small yard behind their house. A line of wet clothes on a rope. Sunlight blinking on droplets. She stood there with her sleeves rolled, younger, laughing at something he could not hear. Then the sound came late, like it had to cross water to reach him.
"Hold steady" she said, and brushed his hair back from his eyes with the back of her fingers. Warm, quick, simple.
He knew it was a dream. He knew because there was no wind, and because the smell of fish and soap arrived after her touch, like the world was catching up seconds late. He tried to hold the moment anyway.
"Mom…" he said, and the word made the light wobble.
