Sam didn’t know why she wanted to talk. 

She had been finishing up the chocolate mousse cake for her son’s eighth birthday when Lily called her. 

It was a call on the wind, cryptic and strange, but like most things when it came to Lily, Sam couldn’t say no. 

As Sam wiped her dough-covered hands on her apron, flour residue flew up and caught on the last rays of sun trickling through the window. 

What did Lily want to talk about this time?

The sun was beginning to set outside, golden rays casting shadows on the wooden kitchen floor. Sam hung up her apron on a hook by the fridge, a kernel of anticipation growing in her stomach at the thought of seeing Lily again. 

Pulling loose strands of hair back into her messy bun, Sam turned and looked down the long hallway leading to the back door. She heard Lily’s jingle of laughter fill the space, echoing and bouncing off the walls.

With a small smile on her face, Sam began to walk the hall. She ran her fingers over the dusted photos of her and Lily, laughing at one where both girls sat impatiently at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning. 

Reaching the end of the hall, Sam pulled the heavy back door open, the warmth from the sun washing over her. She felt the soft wind tickle the tip of her nose and knew Lily was close. 

Sam stepped out onto the porch, slipping off the socks and tennis shoes she had on, as per Lily’s request. No shoes, just like old times. 

Sam shook her head with a smile. Well, fine. 

Her feet sank into the damp dirt, enjoying the brush of grass against her heels. Each blade was like Lily’s small fingers when she would sneak up on Sam and tickle her while she was napping. 

Sam walked up to the white, wooden fence surrounding the backyard and flicked the rusted hook with her thumb – a maneuver Lily had taught her when they were kids and loved to creep out to play after dark, careful of any sound that might wake their parents in the room above. 

The day was never enough for Sam and Lily. They played from dawn to sundown, faces flushed and ragged breath from chasing and exploring, but it was never enough to tame the wilderness inside both of them, the erratic pounding for more in their bones. They were children of the wind and trees, and the backyard was their sanctuary. 

Sam pushed the gate open, a loud creak echoing through the air. The hilly backyard spread out before her, sending a complex mixture of pain and joy shooting through her body. 

The hilly expanse had shifted over the years – morphed into something different, something less ethereal and more real. 

In her youth, Sam had always seen it as a dazzling landscape, the trees whispering wise words to her and Lily, each dandelion carried away in the wind was a dream about to come true.

Now when she looked at it – the steep, green hill leading off into an expansive meadow of dandelions and old, wrinkled trees beyond – it seemed tainted, muddled in some way. 

Sam could no longer look at the hill without seeing Lily’s small body curled into a tight ball, falling and flailing down the hill as she laughed and laughed. It was haunting – the fact that Sam could no longer remember the exact pitch of that laugh. That, somewhere along her rocky road of grief, she had forgotten such an important part of her sister.  

Her eyes burning, Sam walked to the edge of the hill, faced with a decision. 

Oh, you have to roll down it, Lily’s voice came to her from a strong gust of wind.

“Fine,” Sam said to the air, a grin on her face. 

Sinking to the ground in one swift motion, Sam ran her hands over the damp grass. She remembered those days when Lily, hair curly and wild like the unruly trunks of a tree, would grab the sleeve of her sweater and pull her down to the grass, both girls tumbling haphazardly down the hill, bones groaning and bending, an occasional bruise appearing if they rolled over a particularly sharp stone. Their mother never liked the hill very much.

Curling into a ball on the ground, Sam wrapped her arms around her veiny legs, scooching her body until it tumbled over the tip of the hill.

Her body rolled and rolled and rolled, the large setting sun whipping past her vision and then disappearing into the damp dirt beneath her. 

Just like old times. 

Sam laughed even as her ribs ached with pain and joy, her body twisting and turning in ways she hadn’t known it was still capable of. 

Sam let out a yelp—a full-bodied sound that seemed to rip out of her—and the trees rustled in its wake. A welcome after so long away. 

And as Sam’s body rolled to a slow halt at the bottom of the hill, the sky swirling in front of her as dizziness clouded her vision, Lily’s young face appeared above her, a dandelion dangling from her small hand. 

“Good. You made it,” she said, her curly hair swept up by the light breeze. 

Sam laughed, pulling herself up to a sitting position and wincing at the soreness that shot through her body. “It’s not fair,” she said, rubbing her lower back. “I have to feel all achy and sore and you could probably roll down hills all day if you wanted to.”

Lily sat down across from Sam, pulling her legs into a pretzel shape. 

“That’s just how it is.” The light from the sun hit her at a slant, its rays illuminating the amber flecks in her eyes—the same eyes Sam had, although she always thought Lily’s looked wiser, holding secret truths about the world in each intricate iris. 

Sam felt her eyes begin to burn, the silhouette of Lily’s small body in front of her blurring around the edges. A strangled sound broke free from Sam, but Lily only held out a dandelion toward her in response.

Lily’s hand bridged the distance between the two girls—one old and worn by age, the other young and chubby-cheeked. 

Sam blinked rapidly against her increasingly blurry vision. No matter how hard she had tried over the years, she could never understand the blatant unfairness of it all. How could she be here, and Lily be somewhere else? 

The question never ceased to plague Sam, but she eventually came to realize that, despite the distance, there had to exist some tether between her and Lily – some soul tie that could never be broken – by time, place, or anything else. 

Even now, sitting in front of Lily’s delicate outline, she felt that tether – that taut string – that kept them together. It was painful at times, but, most importantly, it forced Sam to remember. 

“Make a wish, Sam,” Lily murmured, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the wind. 

Sam swallowed, reaching out to grab the dandelion between them, the stem sticky and wet. “I don’t know what to wish for,” she whispered, staring misty-eyed at the flower. It was heavier than she remembered. 

Sam looked up to find Lily with her eyes closed, her dark lashes brushing against her rosy cheeks. Her mouth moved in slow, slight movements, mutely uttering her wish with the dandelion clutched tightly in her grip. 

Sam watched Lily’s eyes peel open and look curiously down at the weed. Lily opened her mouth and exhaled a long breath, the cotton wisps flying off on a phantom wind. 

Lily’s rounded face turned toward Sam, looking pointedly at the dandelion still in her hands. “Make a wish,” she repeated, the sun crowning her head like a goddess. 

Sam looked down at the delicate flower she still held and then up at Lily’s face. It was all the same as it had been – the curves of her plump cheeks, the twinkle of curiosity in her eyes, the crookedness of her two-front teeth. 

Sam’s throat grew thick, heat burning down it–

“Mommy?”

The sound reached Sam through the wind and she turned her head away from Lily’s expectant face. 

It was a boy, standing four feet away – a boy with curly, unruly hair and crooked front teeth. Her son. 

“Mommy, were you talking to Auntie Lily again?” he asked, playing with the seam of his blue button-up shirt. 

Sam wiped at her eyes, brushing away any of the tears that might have fallen. “Yeah, kiddo,” she said, sniffling. “We were just chatting.”

Feeling the air turn cold around her, Sam turned back to look at Lily, but she was already gone. 

All that was left was a strong wind and the stone grave marker in her place, shining in the last bits of evening sun that cut through the trees. Sam smiled sadly and pulled herself up, the sound of bones popping filling the air. 

She turned back to look at her son, his eyes curiously watching the gravestone. “I’ll be right inside,” Sam said, her throat unbearably thick. 

The boy nodded and began his haphazard climb up the hill, his bare feet slipping on patches of slick grass.

Sam felt wind tickle her neck, and she turned back to look at the field and small gravestone that lay there. “What should I wish for?” she whispered helplessly to the stone, the words catching in her throat. 

Only you know, the wind said back.

Sam smiled and closed her eyes, bringing the dandelion close to her heart.

I wish you were still here. They were the truest words Sam had ever thought. 

Sam opened her eyes, clear and shining now, and looked down at the flower. Its white cotton top swayed in the wind – perhaps it was not a dream to be answered, but a promise. A promise to Lily that she would never be forgotten.

 Sam took a deep breath and blew on the dandelion, watching as the white wisps raced after the setting sun. 

Wiping at her eyes, Sam walked up to the small grave marker, brushing her fingers over the sun-warmed stone. She let the warmth sink into her fingers and spread throughout her body before turning and following her son up the hill.

And as she walked, the wind at her heels, she could have sworn she heard Lily’s giggles follow her into the warm light of her home.