Waiting Out the Storm. Ruth Herne Logan

      “Yeth. Brett says I look like a vampire.” Augmenting the words, she bared her teeth and hissed.

      “Oooooo… Brett’s right. You’re positively terrifying. How about setting the table for me?”

      “Really? By myself?” Skeet’s excitement quickened Sarah’s heart. Such a little thing, to help a grown-up. Did Skeeter remember such things with her mother? The good times they had? Half her life had been clouded by her parents’ choices. Olivia burst through the door, nose twitching at the smell of food. Brett followed.

      “Something smells good. Hey, Gino.” Approaching slowly, Brett let the dog give him a once-over, allowing space and time. Gino offered Brett a measured look, then a good sniff, ending in a typical Maremma token of acceptance. He licked Brett’s face.

      “Yuck.” Livvie frowned, disgusted.

      Brett grinned, accepting the dog’s ministrations easily. “You’re just jealous ’cause he likes me best.”

      “Yeah. Right. Hey, Aunt Sarah.” Liv moved to the stove, her brows lifting in interest. “Smells great.”

      “Good.” Sarah eyed her adolescent niece and stirred the extra pot of gravy. Chicken and biscuits were a favorite, but biscuit topping robbed the gravy beneath. Extra was never a bad thing. Shifting her attention, she complimented Skeeter for setting the plates, then turned back to Liv. “What movie did you see?”

      “Jinx, the Wonder Dog. It’s about a dog that turns into a cartoon action hero.”

      “Really?”

      Her tone put Liv on the defensive. “Yeah. Why?”

      “Was it good?”

      “It was really good,” interjected Skeets, setting forks and knives in random fashion. Sarah re-directed her, showing her where each utensil belonged.

      “How did you get there?”

      “Drove.” Opening the fridge, Liv pulled out a jug of juice and tipped some into one of the few clean glasses.

      Sarah hiked a brow Liv’s way as she set out a fresh green salad. “When did you get your license, Liv?”

      “I didn’t drive.” Liv laughed, emphasizing the pronoun. “Shannon Connors did. She got her license in February. They moved into the old Rafferty house.”

      “She drove your mother’s car?”

      “Sure. Her parents both work and our car just sits here. Mom said it was okay,” she added.

      Sarah fought the sigh. No doubt Rita okayed the trip, then promptly forgot she’d given permission for someone to use her car. How long would it take two normal adolescents to realize the advantage they had when their one authority figure lay motionless, hour upon hour?

      “She’s a careful driver?”

      Liv shrugged her dislike at being questioned. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

      Sarah changed the subject. “Supper will be ready in ten minutes. Anybody need help with homework?”

      “I don’t have any.” Skeet’s lack of teeth swirled the words together. Sarah smiled.

      “Got mine done in study hall,” Brett confirmed, his hand buried in the ruff of Gino’s coat.

      “How about you, Liv? Anything I can help you with?”

      “For starters, you could stop playing mother.” Her harsh tone brought Brett and Skeeter’s heads up. They stared. “I’m tired of people showing up out of the blue, telling us what to do. We manage on our own.”

      Her anger reminded Sarah of herself at a similar age, her mother recently buried, her family divided. Oh, yeah, she had no trouble identifying with Olivia, but she wasn’t big on placating mouthy teens. “Really? That’s good to know. But it would be more convincing if the entire house didn’t resemble a dump.” Sarah cast a look around the kitchen. She’d made some headway. The dishwasher hummed, the counters were clear and the table set. The floor still needed scrubbing, but all in all, the room looked better.

      Liv glared. “Maybe we have better things to do than clean up after her.”

      “You’re mad that your mother’s sick?”

      “She’s not sick, she’s…” Liv hesitated, stumbling over words. “Lazy,” she filled in. “Feeling sorry for herself. Look at this place.” Liv waved her hands, half spinning, half pacing. “It’s gross.”

      Sarah opened her mouth, but Liv kept ranting.

      “Skeets wet the bed the other night and went to school smelling like pee. Mrs. Besset pulled me aside in the lunch-room and said the elementary school nurse wanted me to make sure Skeets takes a morning shower if she wets at night. I have to be at school at seven-fifteen,” the girl expounded, staring at Sarah. “How am I supposed to make sure Skeets is up and clean for an eight o’clock bus when Brett and I leave an hour before?”

      “Who puts Skeeter on the bus?”

      “Mom. Or no one.”

      Groaning inwardly, Sarah figured the likelihood of no one. Skeeter’s rapt expression said she understood too much. “Brett, can you take Skeeter into the living room while Liv and I finish up?”

      “I want to hear the rest of the fight.” He darted a look from his aunt to his sister.

      “We’re not fighting,” Sarah corrected. “Your sister needs to vent. It’s perfectly understandable.”

      “Don’t patronize me.” Liv stalked to the door and put the flat of her hand against the warm, cherry tones. Sarah was surprised to note the contrast, how pale Liv’s skin had become. “You’re not some social worker who thinks I’ll work out my aggression by molding a lump of clay for thirty minutes a day. You’re a sheep farmer. A smelly sheep farmer who wasted a good education to clean up animal crap.” She pinched her nose to make her parting shot more pointed as she pushed through the door.

      Ouch. Sarah said a silent prayer for patience, then one of gratitude for lack of available weaponry. Strangling one’s niece because she insulted your pungent profession wouldn’t sit well.

      Definitely not worth it. Besides, who would watch the sheep?

      She turned back to Brett and Skeeter. “Wash up, guys.

      Supper’s ready.”

      Skeeter sidled up to her. “Aunt Sarah?”

      “What, sweetcakes?” Sarah bent down, cradling Skeeter’s cheeks in her hands.

      “If Mommy never gets up, can we come live with you?”

      Sarah’s heart froze. Brett went still as well, his hands immobile beneath the water. Eyes down, he listened for her answer, just like his little sister.

      Rita, get down here. See your children. Feast your eyes. Delight in the gifts of the Lord, your God.

      No gentle footfall answered her prayer. No warm motherly presence brightened the dark corners of the room. Sarah pulled Skeeter in for a hug. “Farms do get stinky. Sheep aren’t the freshest smelling animals I’ve ever met.” Sharing a wink with Skeeter, she rose and guided the little girl to the table. “But there’s always room for you guys.”

      “Even if I wet the bed?”

      Sarah made a mental note to buy protective mattress covers for the twin beds in the room adjoining hers.

      “Everybody wets the bed when they’re little,” she comforted. Turning slightly, she noted Brett’s stance. Silent. Still. “If your Mom needs extra help, of course you can stay with me.”

      “But you live in a different district.” Brett turned, eyes wary. The faucet gurgled behind him.

      “I can get you back and forth if