Lesso pushed open his bedroom door and froze. The hallway was gone — replaced by a winding trail of breakfast plates, golden toast, and honey jars that led nowhere near the kitchen.
He followed the crumb trail past the living room rug, where a yellow sticky note on the coffee table smelled like pencil shavings and warm bread.
Out in the garden, the mother bear was watering petunias. She pointed toward the back fence without looking up.
Beyond the fence, the father bear hung upside-down from a tree branch, tangled in a blue kite. Lesso climbed the post and hauled it free — but the wind snatched it away instantly.
At the park, the grandmother bear and grandfather bear sat on a bench wrapping leftovers. The kite dropped between them. The grandmother bear tapped her foot three times and offered a jar of pickles.
He looked down at the pickle jar, then at the grandfather bear's cardigan — there, on the pocket, was a green embroidered dinosaur, just like his favorite.
Back in the kitchen, the mother bear had flour on her nose and the father bear had grass on his knees. The grandmother bear hummed. The grandfather bear read the paper folded over one eye.
They spread the tablecloth and set every plate down, one by one. The room filled with the smell of cinnamon rolls and simmering soup. Everyone leaned in until their shoulders touched.
That night, the house glowed amber. The mother bear hummed, the grandmother bear read aloud, and the grandfather bear told a joke that made the father bear snort-laugh into his pillow.
The lamp clicked off. Moonlight pooled on the carpet in a silver rectangle. His paw rested on the blanket, right where the father bear's hand hovered, still warm.
