began to simmer, Julia appeared in her wheelchair.
“Goodness!” she said. “Only the dead could sleep through this.”
“Maybe they’re not,” Connie remarked.
“Yeah,” Sophie said. “Maybe they’re sitting on their tombstones and wishing it would quiet down.”
Julia and Connie both laughed.
“Where’s Deputy Ethan?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t know,” Connie answered truthfully. “Mom, will you watch the milk while I get him?”
“As if you need to ask.”
Connie didn’t exactly want Ethan to join the family circle; he’d already breached too many of her defensive barriers, leaving her exposed. But if it made Sophie feel more secure...
He had returned to the living room, to his guardian position.
“Sophie wants you to join us,” she said.
“Not necessary,” he replied quietly.
“I didn’t say it was. You’ve been invited.”
She clearly saw him hesitate in the glare of another lightning flash from outside, but then he turned to follow her. “Thank you,” he said.
The kitchen, the heart of this family, which ordinarily welcomed her with warmth, felt odd tonight. Alien. And it wasn’t Ethan who made it feel that way. It was something about the storm, Connie thought. Something had leached away the comfort she usually found here.
As they drank, Sophie announced, “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”
Connie hesitated. Part of her wanted to wrap Sophie up and keep her right here beside her until the threat vanished, but another part of her of understood that would be a bad way to handle the situation. It would teach Sophie all the wrong lessons about dealing with fear.
Her hesitation gave Julia time to enter the breach. “Don’t you feel well, dear?”
Sophie shook her head. “My stomach hurts.”
Another boom of thunder caused the table to shake and their mugs to slide a bit. Wisdom, Connie thought. Grant me wisdom. How do I deal with this?
Julia knew no such qualms. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”
Ethan spoke. “It’s all right to be afraid, Sophie.”
“Do you get afraid?”
“All the time. I used to be a soldier. I was afraid every day.”
“What did you do?”
“I did my job anyway.”
Sophie nodded, her young face serious. Maybe too serious. “That’s what you’re supposed to do,” she agreed. “Mom says fear is like a warning signal, and all it means is to be careful and think first.”
“That’s very wise,” Ethan agreed.
“But my stomach still hurts. I wanna puke.”
“Then don’t drink that chocolate, child,” Julia said. “Heavens, that’s the worst thing when you feel that way. Let me get you a little ginger ale.”
Sophie screwed up her face. “No. I don’t want anything.”
Watching her daughter, listening to her, Connie felt capable of murder. If she ever got her hands on the man who had frightened Sophie, he might never see the light of another day. Her hands gripped her mug so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She looked from Sophie to Ethan and saw a wealth of understanding in his dark gaze.
“Tell you what,” Julia said. “You can sleep in my bed with me. It’s close to the bathroom, in case you get sick.”
“I am sick,” Sophie said. She shivered. Then she leaped up from her chair and ran to the bathroom. Connie followed to find her daughter being sick in the toilet.
She grabbed a washcloth, wet it with cold water and pressed it to the back of her daughter’s neck, speaking soothing words about nothing, rubbing Sophie’s back until the dry heaves stopped.
When Sophie at last caught her breath and straightened, she looked white as a ghost.
“Well, that settles it,” Connie said as she gently wiped her daughter’s face, then helped her rinse her mouth. “You’re staying home tomorrow.”
“I said I was sick.”
“So you did. And you certainly proved it.”
Sophie looked grumpy. “You just thought I was scared, like a little kid.”
“Sometimes it happens.”
“But I don’t wanna sleep upstairs until the storm is gone.”
“No, of course not. This is the worst storm I can remember in a long time. I don’t want to sleep upstairs, either.”
“I’ll sleep with Grandma.”
So it was settled. A little while later, Julia and Sophie were tucked into Julia’s bed, with a light on. Connie went back to the kitchen and found that Ethan had once again disappeared. The man had a way of doing that.
She made more coffee and poured herself a cup, listening to the storm, wondering if they might get a tornado. It sounded violent enough.
Then, as if drawn by an invisible wire, she returned to the living room.
Ethan was still there, standing at his chosen post. Connie sank into the armchair. “I don’t think this is fair to you.”
He turned to look at her. “Why not?”
“Well, you came here to see your father, and instead, you’re living in my house, protecting my daughter, and your father’s at the other end of the county.”
He sat facing her, stretching his legs out before him. “It’s good to be useful. As for Micah and me...we have no history to speak of. There’s a silence between us. It may take years to cross it.”
“But you can hardly do that while you’re stuck here.”
“Do you want me to go?”
Part of her did, but most of her didn’t. “No. No. That’s not what I meant. What kind of silence are you talking about?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“So many things are.”
“They seem to be,” he agreed. In another flash of light from outside, she saw him rub his bearded chin. “There’s a time,” he said, “when silence speaks best. A time when just being with someone gradually creates a knowing. This is one of those times.
