The Place Beside Willa

Willa the red panda cub had spent her birthday morning choosing a tree. The pine had prickly ground beneath it. The birch stood too close to the muddy path. But the old maple had broad shade and a root just right for resting her feet.

She spread the picnic blanket beneath it. Mama would sit near the trunk, Papa beside the basket, and her cousin Jun on the corner with the yellow patch. Willa placed four smooth stones around the blanket to hold it steady. She could already picture everyone there.

Then a drop landed on her nose.

Another darkened the yellow patch. Rain began pattering through the maple leaves, and Papa lifted the basket before the bread got wet.

“We’ll need to have our picnic inside,” Mama said.

Willa grabbed one corner of the blanket. Water slid from a leaf onto her wrist. By the time they reached their snug woodland house, her cheeks were hot and something hard seemed to have lodged behind her ribs.

She stood in the doorway with the damp blanket bunched against her chest. Her breath caught twice. Then tears ran down into the russet fur beside her nose.