[She laughs, of course; in the grand scheme of things, that sort of lift isn't nearly so impressive as hanging on to her mother as they pitch backwards off a building, or pressing her face to the window as they soar through the air, but there's a unique sort of thrill that comes with this sort, because it brings memories rushing back of her dad, the strongest person in the world, never too weak to hold her on his shoulders.
I can't reach them, she'd told him once, plaintively, on a summer night when the cloudless sky was filled with stars (and Tom knew their names and showed her, every one), and he'd laughed and lifted her up high like this, and told her to try reaching again.
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I can't reach them, she'd told him once, plaintively, on a summer night when the cloudless sky was filled with stars (and Tom knew their names and showed her, every one), and he'd laughed and lifted her up high like this, and told her to try reaching again.
Don't ever stop reaching for them, he'd said.]