papers she always carries with her are completely soaked.
âDid your umbrella break or something?â I ask, and Mom looks surprised by the question. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her umbrella, dry and folded up neatly.
âI guess I forgot I had it,â she says absently.
âHow could you forget in weather like this?â I ask, but Mom doesnât answer. Instead, she shrugs off her raincoat, letting it fall on the floor. Her straight hair is twisted into a damp ponytail, and her pastel-colored scrubs are wet up to her knees. She kicks off her chunky black clogs, and they land with a thud on top of her raincoat as she makes her way into the kitchen.
I shake my head. She usually rags on me for leaving a trail of clothes between the front door and my room when I get home. Maybe itâs just because itâs so wet and she didnât want to hang it up, where it might . . . what? Dry?
I shake my head. Itâs the end of a long day, sheâs tired, and sheâs soaked, so dropping her coat on the floor is no big deal. Everyone gets lazy from time to time, even someone as neat and organized as Mom.
I turn on all the lights in the kitchen. Iâve laid the photos out on the table by the window, the one with the little girlâs shadow smack in the center of the table, where she canât miss it.
âI have something to show you,â I begin.
Mom shakes her head. âCan it wait? I havenât even had anything to eat yet.â
I donât mention that I havenât had dinner either; Iâd been waiting for her to get home. Instead, I say, âIâll make you something. Anything you want.â My voice comes out extra-eager. But itâs not dinner Iâm excited about.
âRight now I just want a hot bath and an even hotter cup of coffee.â Mom heads for the coffeemaker, her eyes half-closed.
âCoffee? At this hour?â
âYes, Sunshine. At this hour. I still have work to do, and Iâve been exhausted all day.â
I sway backward as though Iâve just been shoved, away from her. Iâm not sure sheâs ever talked to me so curtly. I remind myself that itâs not her fault. She doesnât know why she was so tired all day, and I doâwe were up half the night, terrified.
Mom fills her mug and heads for the table, the soaking wet papers dripping in her arms. Sheâs about to set them down on the tableâitâs like she doesnât even see the photos lying thereâand I shout, âNo!â
Mom spins around. âWhat is it now?â
I shake my head, imagining my photos stained with a ring of coffee from the bottom of her mug, spattered with water from the edges of her files. Theyâd be useless then. Sheâd be able to blame the shadows on the damage.
âYou could have ruined my photos,â I say, genuinely irritated. She might have destroyed them. I mean, okay, she doesnât know how important they are.
âWhat?â Mom says, blinking as though sheâs seeing them for the first time. âOh, sorry, honey. I didnât see them.â
Okay, I know theyâre black and white, and I know that evenwith all the lights on, this room is still pretty dimâwhich is pathetic, considering that itâs the best-lit room in the house, with a fairly tacky chandelier hanging down above the tableâbut come on! I mean, thereâs a stack of photos there. How could she not see them?
âMom, I know youâre tired and I know youâre busy, but I have something I really want to show you.â I walk over to her and take the papers from her, placing them gently on the counter behind us, where they can drip all they want without doing any harm.
âLook,â I say, pointing at the photos. âItâll only take a second.â
âYou took some photos of the house. Theyâre great, honey. And itâs so nice to see you embracing our new home like this,
James Kakalios
Tara Fox Hall
K. Sterling
Jonathan Maberry
Mary Balogh
Elizabeth Moynihan
Jane Hunt
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley
Jacquie Rogers
Shiloh Walker