I sling the towel over the shower curtain rod before I step into the shower, later I take it to pat my face and legs dry before stepping out into the cold bathroom. Some towels smell like summer on the lake, no amount of laundering can lift the scent of sunscreen and campfire. Burying my face in the loops of terry I close my eyes and hear the girls. They’re squealing as Sean turns the boat quickly; they’re splashing as they dive beneath the surface to look at fish through their goggles. Other towels smell like fresh laundry, no fancy scents because the girls are allergic to dryer sheets. These towels keep me from lingering, just pat-pat-pat and out of the shower to run…

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