Photo credit: Fandango
“How long does she have to be here?”
I’m sure Martin’s eyebrows would’ve reached the ceiling if they weren’t tied together in a unibrow.
“Mr. Stormled said, at least a month.”
Martin twisted one side of his mouth to bite the corner of his lip, and I knew there were many words he wanted to say and wasn’t. Afraid, perhaps. Many were. There was something about people – if they were people at all – who controlled such things.
Stewart Stormled didn’t frighten me, though. At least not more than most things did. I bent to straighten the small pillow.
“Making her comfortable?”
“Dad won’t like this.”
Martin had a point, but Dad wasn’t in charge of this any more. He’d given up that right when he dabbled in what he shouldn’t and left us to clean his mess. Like always.
A moment trickled by.
“You think it’ll work?” For once, Martin’s voice was small.
I sighed and traced the handle of Mr. Stormled’s broken wicker chair. “Yeah. Or Mama will remain a branch forever. Julie says that’s what happened to Grandma … last time Dad tried to use magic.”
For the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge