Sally’s long since stopped raking at the plants. The garden is quiet, and here they are, smack dab in the center of a messy whirlwind. Leaves are wilted, dusty and crumbly; rows of uprooted vegetables yanked from deep, dark soil have been scattered haphazardly, alongside drooping heads of flower blossoms.
Forgive her, she’s still a little stunned. Sally stands with her clogs peeking out from beneath the dusty hem of her long skirt. The old, white tank top she is wearing sports stains from dirt. Her bare, browned arms are crossed down in front of her. Slowly, the appalled, bitter shroud that has come over her dissipates, making way for words filling her mouth and falling heavily. ❛ Specifically, no. I'm not sure. I just know my daughters got in an altercation with some boys in town. But they're being quiet at the moment. ❜
She doesn’t exactly smile, but Sally feels a rush of gratitude. She expresses it sincerely. ❛ Thank you for getting here so quickly. ❜ || cont.