by Maggie Secara
Night air rushed through hard-fingered trees. Branches tap-tap-tapped at Jenny's window almost as Jack used to, before the war.
Melancholy, she raised the sash as she had back then, half expecting him to clamber over the sill, laughing, defying her sisters.
Instead, the breeze swept in, rippling the curtains until she recognized his shape in them, as if he were there, alive. A teasing corner reached out, flicked her lips, her hair.