The area where the cow had fallen the night before was flat, as dead as the creature that’d been hauled away early that gray, fall morning. Every piece of grass seemed to have bowed down and fainted in grief.
       “But mama, where did Sherry go?” Louisa stood in her little flannel pj suit. Despite her clothing being so small, her hands were gone behind sleeves too long and her boots met scrunched cloth at the ankles, falling from their rolls. Nothing seemed to fit her. Especially emotion.
         When Grandfather died we’d hidden it from her for weeks. My family had no talent for soothing the wounded and Louisa was a bruise, swollen with sensitivity.
        “Louisa, Sherry won’t be with us anymore. She’s gone away.” My mother whispered sternly in a manner that begged for nothing else to be asked of her. After Grandfather died, our father had fallen ill. Shortly before that, Barely, Louisa’s rabbit and first pet, ate a patch of poisonous mushrooms from our mother’s garden. The package had said shiitake in scratchy handwriting, grandfather had picked it up somewhere. In reaction, Louisa cooped herself up in her room and refused to take food (except jelly on saltines, her favorite). It had taken a while to coax her out. She still hadn’t fully recovered.
        “Mother? Can we go back inside and make breakfast?” I asked. It was all I’d said since hearing about Sherry. It wasn’t so much that I was sad as uncomfortable.
        “Go ahead,” my mother was staring blindly at the indented ground.
        “Come on, Louisa.” I put my hands on her little shoulders. “Let’s go warm up.”
       “Wait, what do you mean Sherry won’t be with us!?” Louisa slipped out of my hands and ran up to my mother. I could tell she was clenching her fists under those long, flannel sleeves. My mother looked like she hadn’t noticed. “Where is she? Why are we staring at this smooshed grass? She was just sleeping here, then she woke up, right? She woke up, didn’t she?” The corners of her eyes began to sparkle with passion and damp emotion. My mother didn’t even turn to look at her.
       “Louisa, come on now, it’s all okay. Everyone’s just a little cold and hungry.” I walked over and tried to guide her back towards the house again. I took a firmer grip on her shoulders.
       “Stop it!” Louisa wriggled away and ran up to my mother, grabbing her shirt and tugging with anger and confusion. “Mother! Answer me, why won’t anybody tell me anything!?” I didn’t know what to do. I was honestly sick and tired of death. Sick and tired of Louisa. Sick and tired of my cold, emotionless mother.
       “Louisa-” I tried again.
       “What!?”
       “Louisa, there's nothing we can do about it, I-”
       “DO ABOUT WHAT!? WHERE IS EVERYONE GOING?” She was a tomato, red and boiling at the skin in a sauce pan of frustration. “IS SHE WITH GRANDPA? DID HE TAKE HER? WHAT IS GOING ON? GRANDPA WOULD TELL ME. NOBODY TALKS TO ME. EVERYONE’S LEAVING. WHAT'S NEXT OUR FATH-”
      “SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” My mother had turned on her heel and suddenly grown inches in height. She loomed over us, cooling Louisa’s heat. “GRANDFATHER IS DEAD.” I took a step back but Louisa looked frozen by my mother’s icy emotion. “SHERRY IS DEAD, BARELY IS DEAD AND YOUR FATHER MIGHT AS WELL BE.” I took another step back. “GET OVER IT, LOUISA! GET THE F*** OVER IT! THEY AREN’T COMING BACK.” I took another step and then another. Suddenly I was running, away from them and our worn out farm house. My feet felt alive with all the life that had left us in the past year. I didn’t look back.