For St. Patrick’s Day this year my little sister wanted to find a four-leaf clover. 

“Keller!  You gotta help me!” Missy bellowed as she ran toward my resting spot in the back yard. 

Missy is only four years old; ten years younger than I am.  I tell her that Santa dropped her down the chimney when I realized that being an only child was boring.  Every time I tell her about my Santa Claus wish she grins and gives me the most amazing hugs. 

“What’s up squirt?” I asked, ruffling her curly black hair.

“I gotta have a four-leaf clover for Paddy’s Day.  Miss Lucy’s gonna give me a prize if I bring one to school Monday.”  She plopped down on the grass and started her search for the lucky clover.

“Help me Keller!”  She tore at weeds; she pulverized strands of grass; she complained about the dirt; she squealed at a bug. 

We sat out on our back lawn for hours that day talking about rainbows, chicken feathers, Dora the Explorer, grilled cheese sandwiches and the day Santa brought her to me. 

We never did find that four-leaf clover. But Missy and I found each other, yet again.

© 2008 Paige Walton. Original for CCF (Walton grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).