Little Sister s Dilemma Part II
In the morning at breakfast, I sat at the kitchen table, absent-mindedly remembering the magic of the previous and fateful afternoon. Mom puttered around the stove, bouncing between there and the sink, busy doing something that kept her occupied, and out of my hair. Most mornings, she’d have some snide remark to make to me, but this particular day, she was strangely quiet. I have no problem remembering those days of her being quiet, because there weren’t very many of them. Being lost in my...