9If I make it through
I felt guilty for planning a few minutes earlier to take both guns and point them at her.
Maybe this was her tactic.
To make me comfortable so she could take both guns and point them at me.
I squirmed uncomfortably.
The sun had shifted almost directly overhead. Her whole face was now in shadow.
Why had I always complained to dad when I would help him bale hay on the farm?
Secretly I loved the work. The smell. Being outside. Quality time with dad.
How the horses we used to board on grandma's farm would nuzzle my hand when I fed them treats of apples or carrots.
Cooking with mom in the kitchen.
Decorating christmas cookies with Sarah and Eddie, a baby then.
And grandma, always there. Helping, knitting, cooking, telling her stories.
Until she wasn't.
We both watched the clock, breathless.
Seconds ticked by.
The remembered taste of caramel was replaced by sawdust once again.
The shadows darker, hungrier.
Spots appearing in my vision. Afraid to breathe, to blink.
Meg and I hiding our hands under the table. Waiting.
The first chime.
I jump, heart in my throat. Senses razor-sharp, I swiped my ornate place card to the floor to reach clumsily across the table, all plans and dignity forgotten as the taste of pecans and caramel once again fill my mouth.