She had placed the three penny bit under the mat one morning when they had all gone out and somehow it had chosen to stay there, shiny and manageably small for months.
Lynda had never had a secret before.
She would walk across the mat and pause sensing the calm security of the coin’s shape, even taking off her sandals sometimes, just to feel a little bit more of its perfect form, its uncompromising hardness. Even on one of her bad days, this little coin would reshape something in her head and things would begin to flow differently. And although it was odd, Lynda began to look forward to coming back home just to cross the mat, and touch again- barefoot if she was free, the shape of the coin her father had given her, when he stood looking at the perfect blue house with nothing left to say.