Waiting Out the Storm. Ruth Herne Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ and talk to me; I’ll straighten up the kitchen while we chat.”

      “Go away, Sarah.”

      The response brought Sarah’s chin higher. “Won’t work, not with me. That’s the one part of Slocum that bred true. I’m stubborn as an ox and you need to eat. Embrace the sunshine. It’s almost spring, Rita. Let’s go down together. Please?”

      Rita clutched the pillow tighter. “I can’t. I need to rest.”

      All you do is rest, thought Sarah, impatience rising. That’s all you’ve done for over a year.

      “You can. You have to. Liv, Brett and Skeeter are counting on you.”

      “Not anymore.”

      “Reet—”

      “Sarah, I’m tired.” Rita’s gaze shifted to the curtained window. She blinked as if the shade-mellowed light hurt her eyes. “So tired.”

      The first months following Tom’s death had seemed almost normal. Rita had gone on, looking neither right nor left, as if everything were okay.

      But then the insurance company rejected Rita’s claim because of a two-year “no suicide” clause. It had been eighteen months since Tom changed companies.

      His smaller policy was intact, but the monetary value was minimal compared to the loss of his income. He had developed a retirement portfolio of stocks and mutual funds outside of his illicit investments, but they were inaccessible to Rita because Ed Slocum’s name was included on the portfolio. Without Ed’s blessing, the fund’s worth remained out of reach until retirement. Twenty-plus years, give or take. And Ed had no intention of divesting the portfolio, regardless of Rita’s financial situation.

      Rita had crashed with that realization. Just slid right down into oblivion. Rita, who made eyes widen and mouths water with some of the most beautiful and innovative cakes and pastries the area had ever seen, now lived in a hovel, with ovens that hadn’t been fired up since… Well, probably since the last time Sarah cooked a meal.

      Watching the prone figure, Sarah felt overwhelmed. How do I help her, God? How do I ease her out of the pain, out of the darkness?

      No answers came in the fetid room. Rita lay still, eyes open but unseeing, wrestling demons Sarah could only imagine. And had no desire to.

      A scramble of feet and voices headed toward the kitchen a short time later. The door burst open. Gino, comfortably ensconced on the back porch, ambled to his feet, watchful and curious.

      “Hey, Aunt Sarah!”

      “Hey, yourself, Skeets. Come here.” Arms wide, Sarah enfolded her youngest niece in a hug, then pressed raspberry kisses to the little girl’s neck. The answering squeal and giggle was justified reward. “Gotcha.”

      “That ticklth.” Skeeter’s giggle displayed a gap in her teeth.

      “They both fell out, huh?”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ