Shortly after the babe’s first month, Aunt Agnes came for a visit and asked to take her namesake for a walk in the pram. Being a particularly cold March day, the infant was bundled in thick blankets, knit with the wool from the herd of sheep on the sprawling Irish farm. Hours passed and they didn’t return. As dusk gave in to darkness the family became worried and sent two of the older girls in search of their aunt and sister.
They looked around the neighborhood, peering in windows and tapping at doors. The town square and shops in the village were deserted; everyone had gone home to their supper. The lone general store shop-keeper that was just closing for the night told them that he had sold Agnes a full set of baby clothes and a bottle with a nipple imported from America a few weeks earlier. Agnes had stated that she was going to be caring for her goddaughter soon.
“When you turn the wheel right, the boat goes right” he said patiently. “Think of it as driving a car.”
Spring had finally arrived. The stark branches were dotted with pink flower buds and these little signs of life gave her hope. It had been a harsh winter and her husband had been laid off, making it twice as miserable.
“X marks the spot. Well, if that isn’t cliche,” Sarah rolled her eyes at her boyfriend as she studied the map that was poorly made to look like a pirate’s treasure map.
Heather stretched languidly in bed, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. She smiled, listening to her husband singing off-key to “American Pie.” He knew every word to all 20 plus verses. Up next would be a collection of Buddy Holly hits. His playlist was as predictable as Dan himself. 
The foursome were enjoying their sundowner cocktails and 
“Amy! Dinnertime! C’mon home!”
Vivo O Sonho 