Sophie had arranged two camping chairs beside the fire, close enough that the armrests touched. On each seat she had laid a roasting stick. Then she counted the marshmallows again, although the bag had been open for less than a minute.

“We have enough,” her mother said, coming out of the tent with their jackets. “Enough for what?” Sophie asked. Lena looked at the bag. “A small village.” Sophie considered that. “Good. You burn them.”

It was their first camping trip together. Sophie had spent the drive asking when they would get there, then spent the afternoon asking whether they could stay another night. Lena had put up the tent, found the missing flashlight beneath a sleeping bag, and climbed the short trail with her. Coming down, she had slipped on loose gravel and caught herself against a rock. The cut on her palm was small, but she had kept finding one more thing to do before tending to it.

Now Sophie was holding out a roasting stick. Lena reached for it, then stopped as the wood pressed against her sore palm. Her daughter noticed. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little. I’ll sort it out after we do these.” Lena nodded toward the marshmallows. Sophie lowered the stick. “Why after?”

Lena glanced at the chairs, the fire, the little bag her daughter had guarded all afternoon. “You’ve been waiting.”

“I can wait some more.” Sophie set both sticks back on the seats. “Go on. I’ll make sure nobody eats them.” She looked around their empty campsite. “Especially bears.”

Lena laughed, but this time she went. She gave her hand the attention she had been postponing, without trying to finish another camping job at the same time. When she returned, Sophie was in her chair, holding a marshmallow on the end of each stick. Neither was anywhere near the fire.

“You could have started yours,” Lena said, sitting beside her.

Sophie handed her a stick. “Then mine would be done before yours.” They leaned forward together. Lena held hers too close to the flames. Sophie pulled it back with a sharp little “Mom!” and instructed her to turn it slowly.

A few minutes later, Sophie’s marshmallow was pale and barely toasted. Lena’s had a black patch down one side. “Perfect,” Sophie announced. Lena eyed her own. “Really?”

“Yours looks like a bear.” Sophie held up hers beside it. “Mine’s the baby.”

Lena started laughing, and Sophie laughed with her until both sticks were wobbling. Then Sophie leaned across the touching armrests and rested her head against her mother’s shoulder. “Tomorrow,” she said, “we should burn some more.”

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