Old Memory

   
We were already tucked in when daddy came home from Washington that night.  Theresa and I had the windows open with the attic fan on.  (Our long curtains would billow out like flames to lick our faces.)  Dad put his briefcase on the top step and draped his blazer over it.  I thought he had a flower in his hand, but when he sat down by my feet I could see it was something more.  
I sat up. "Its a cotton boll," he said. "Look, 

here is where the seeds are safe."

I touched my nightshirt.