An East-Facing Window

I.

The little boy put his hand on the second-story window, palm flat and fingers spread apart.

“No Baby, don’t!” his mother cried, shuffling over to him, scooping him up from behind, his legs swinging as she lifted him. She had the seat of his pants (or overalls, actually) in one hand and steadied him with the other.

His hand had left behind the ideal of handprints, the most iconic of handprint images in secondhand pineapple juice residue. Smack-dab in the middle of that 28 Hanover Lane second-story window.

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