“What do you mean, ‘shush?’ Don’t shush me.”
“Would you prefer I do this?” She clapped her hand over the other’s mouth, and promptly got bitten. “OW! Heavens, Marcy.”
“Well. Don’t shush me. Or touch me.”
“I can’t hear a word if you keep nattering on. You never did know when to shut up.”
“Shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway. You were always a nosy bitch.”
“You need to watch your language!”
“What pushed you out of the wrong side of bed this morning anyway? You’re a crank pot.” Then she held up her hand, the one with the reddening teeth marks, and leaned her ear against the door.
“What are they saying?”
“That they’re going to put you up for adoption if you don’t smarten up.” There was a dark twinkle in Janie’s brown eyes. But suddenly it left. Her young face fell into an expression the younger sister perceived like a cold hand around her heart.
“What? What is it, Janie? Tell me! Is he coming home?” she hissed.
Janie looked at her with welled eyes and shook her head.
Marcy touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
Janie kept shaking her head, the tears now spilling over her pale cheeks, and the cloud that descended on 1414 Chatham Street that day smothered them in a permanent hush.
Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!