“A truck is here!” Mercy calls to Trudy from the bottom of the stairs. The dog is barking and whining. “Trudy! A truck is here!”
Trudy flips her pillow over and lays her cheek on the cool cotton of the pillowcase. She closes her eyes again and starts to fade. It is late afternoon, and she has been trying to get to sleep. Just a quick nap before Claire returns and dinner gets made and she has to go to work and the whole damn thing starts all over again.
“TRUDY! I THINK IT’S MY MOM!” At this, Trudy sits bolt upright. Really? Come on. Mercy thunders up the stairs, Speckles in tow, and stands wild-eyed at the bedroom door. “Trudy, I’m worried.”
Trudy pulls a T-shirt on over her undershirt, grabs a pair of jeans. “Just give me a second, hon, and we’ll go see who it is together. Stay right there.”
Trudy fights her way into her jeans, trying to listen for the sound of a car door slamming or the front door opening. She heads for the stairs. Mercy can’t help it — she is following too close and she steps on the heel of Trudy’s moccasin.
“Mercy!” Trudy catapults forward, saving herself just before the top of the stairs. “Jesus.”
“Sorry!”
Trudy pushes Speckles back behind her with her foot flat against the dog’s wrinkled brow and takes Mercy’s hand. The three of them bump and tussle down the stairs. Trudy pulls the front curtain back and, sure enough, sees her sister in the driver’s seat of an old beat-up turquoise truck. Making out with some guy. Classic.
“Wait here, Mercy. I just need to check something.” And she heads for the door.
“Wait, Trudy!” Mercy is standing on the couch again. Bouncing. Speckles is whining and squirming and wagging her tail.
“I’ll just be a minute, hon.” Just long enough to stave her head in with a shovel, she thinks.
“But, Trudy, wait! There’s another truck!”