“We’ll keep an eye out for the bunny girl,” my dad whispered and left. It was a joke between us; I don’t know how it started. He’d been saying it likely before I could talk. Must’ve picked it up from one of the cartoons I used to watch when he’d get home at night smelling of cut wood and machinery.
That was years ago.
I surprised myself and whispered in my daughter’s ear as I tucked her into bed. She asked what that meant and I drifted off. There seemed to be a whiff of warm sawdust in the air.