Ch.62 - A Storm Is Brewing

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Okay so this is long. Very long. I was without power for three days so I am sorry for this late update. Crazy crazy storms here! I'm also a bit worried if maybe I've over stretched this story, I mean, yeah. I feel like maybe it should've ended a while ago, but this was part of my plan. But. I don't know. Ugh.

ALSO THOSE CIVIL WAR STILLS DUDE DAMN.

Anyways. Enjoy!
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A thundering crack lights up the rooms, illuminates the dinner prepared around the kitchen island. Still simmering meat jammed into soft taco shells, crumbling onto porcelain plates, reflecting the activity that's been placed upon them with lines of pasty sour cream, drizzling salsa, and driblets of accompanied foods. All for mouth watering, provocative, alluring, and luscious tacos: left abandoned in the cooks kitchen smelling strongly of spiced meat seasoning and freshly sliced lettuce.

Not even three nibbles into the delicacy that had been their night, the three amigos as the night had been dubbed by a recently admiringly Spanish Molly. They'd enjoyed quiet mutterings of days acquaintances, reenacting a scene from their Miami life. Peace without the mother for once, after what seems like forever of the parents bickering's, it had all been relaxed.

Dons unwelcomed presence lurked in his room, sulking until Terry got home. A house split into two armies and a six year old learning things she never should have.

The morning had been an awful one. The television blaring news reports of torrential storms, advising to keep indoors and off of particular roadways struck with an alarmingly fast flash-flooding. The afternoon and night proving to be no better.

A splintering snap through the kitchen windows showed a tree outback dancing into tiny bits of timbre and spreading itself across their backyard, successfully taking out the corner of the patio--funnily enough it had been moms favourite seat. More planks exploding with the impact and bits ricocheting off the siding of their house, scaring Molly in the process.

The little one was only vacant from Charlottes side when she had gone to the washroom--quickly darting back with fear stricken oval eyes. Gripping with intent to never let go. The nineteen year old on the other hand was suffering her own kind of blues. Still contemplating the truth that Robert hadn't been at school today, and that unhinged feeling thats been nestling in her gut swelling since Robert's text that morning stated he'd spend the day at the hospital.

Recounting the day's events so she can stop thinking about the man with cancer, or the stiffness in her back as she lacks a few pillows on her makeshift bed beside a completely asleep Molly.

.

From Robert.

I won't be at MGU today. Day with Doctor. Phone will be off. Be back tomorrow. Hope you got some sleep after putting up with me last night. Miss you. Love you.

So Charlotte Joseph, from the start of her day is perspiring rapidly, trudging through the house with a droopy gaze and iron heavy limbs. Sleep deprived and at her wits end as a long day comes to welcoming.

Car rides filled with reassuring (albeit a bit slurred sleepy) words trying to draw out the discontent and fright from the six year olds orbs. Dropping her off and the day, agonizingly slow and unproductive, inches along.

Hectic and manic scrambling's, homework flung at her with distaste, and friends being the only consolation to her moms berating in the halls. Going off about the coffee machine, how Charlotte had dropped one of the trays on the counter at six am this morning and not bothered cleaning it up. Had she been allowed to add in her two cents, she would've defended that she had left a generous amount of coffee freshly brewed for her mothers awakening, but of course that's seen as irrelevant. Especially when Terry is so hell bent stressed lately, too consumed by her work and not enough bothered to care for the family around her.

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