“Do you want to go to town?” the fair and industrious Trudy asks.
No, I tell myself. I do not want to go to town.
Dappled circles of sunlight are dancing on the yellow checkered tablecloth on the picnic table. The kids are splashing and laughing in the water. Trudy is sitting in a camp chair, thrilled to be wearing a long sleeve sweater in August.
No, I tell myself again. I do not want to go to town. Maybe if I’m silent she won’t ask again … for a while.