Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

No wonder even the smallest cut, the tiniest

bruise, the most inconsequential ache seemed so

shocking. Gradually, with every passing day. I had to

let go of the fantasy. Someone opened the door and let

me see the world as it was around us and I knew that

even Mama and Roy couldn't keep the pain away. But

they tried, oh, how they tried.

Recalling all this. I know I was lying there with

a cool, happy smile on my face even though my skin

was so hot with fever I was practically radiating from

the bed. The headache dulled. I breathed a little better

and I slept on through the better memories, wrapping

them around me like a cocoon in which I could safely

and comfortably snuggle to wait for the burst of

sunshine around me again.

Nat long after. I heard Aunt 'Victoria coming

up the stairs and waited, praying she had regained her

senses and would realize that if she didn't do

something for me soon. I might die and she would be

blamed. Now dressed in a blouse and one of her

familiar ankle-length skirts, she stepped through the

doorway carrying a tray.

"Here you go," she said. "your tea and toast.

That's all you're permitted to have for now:' She set the tray down on the night stand by the

bed and stepped back.

"We're having a beautiful honey-baked ham

and those little potatoes you love so much. I bet you

can smell it up here, can't you? Does it make your

stomach chum?"

"You're going to be blamed," I whispered. "Excuse me? Are you trying to say something,