The Way Back

An Honest Woman

The girl stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, breathing in deeply and taking in the heavenly scent of the strong black coffee as it brewed. She scratched the top of her head and mumbled under her breath, waving to her parents. She yawned and stretched as she stood in front of the Bunn coffee maker. Elisabeth rubbed her foot against the back of her calf and placed her elbows on the counter, watching the liquid drip down into the pot.

"Kiddo, it won't make faster if you watch it."

She ignored her father and rubbed at her eyes.

Lindsey chuckled and rubbed the small of Stevie's back, leaning down to her ear. "Just like you."

"Leave her alone. You're only cheerful because you've had your coffee. I told you to leave her a cup," she admonished and flipped the omelet over in the skillet.

"I didn't, but I made a fresh pot," he returned and moved to the refrigerator. He pulled out the carton of Coffee-mate, pushing it towards his daughter.

Libba dipped her head in thanks and stretched on her toes retrieve her favorite mug from out of the cabinet. She jerked her head as her father cleared his throat. She followed his line of sight and grinned appreciatively. He'd placed her mug by the maker, but she hadn't noticed. Lindsey never understood why that ugly ceramic mug was his daughter's preferred cup. He watched her pour the right amount into the dark olive mug with odd atomic starburst patterns in shades of purple, orange, and yellow adorning the sides. Elisabeth glanced at him, dumping in enough creamer to make the black liquid turn tan. "Your coffee never had it so good," she reiterated the television commercial and tossed sugar into her cup.

"Want breakfast? Your mom's making omelets," Lindsey informed her, giving her a spoon to stir her coffee.

"Want one, baby?" Stevie asked, smiling at her daughter as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen island.

"I can make it," Libba answered and tapped the spoon on the rim of the mug.

"No, you won't. I hardly ever cook for you anymore."

Elisabeth told her mother what she wanted in her omelet and drank her coffee. "Where's nana and papa?" she inquired, getting more awake.

"Out for breakfast," Lindsey answered.

"Linds," Stevie said, sliding a cooked omelet onto a plate. "You aren't buttering the toast."

"I buttered your bread," he joked, howling when she failed to lash him with a dishtowel. "Missed!" Lindsey laughed obnoxiously.

Stevie hated that laugh. It grated on every nerve in her system. She readied the towel and whipped it through the air, popping him on his pajama covered rear end.

"Woman!" Lindsey yapped and massaged his assaulted butt. His lips curved into a sneer, noting how pleased Stevie was with herself.

She good-naturedly rolled her eyes, laughing at him. "Shut up and butter the toast, Buckingham."

He saluted her and took a seat on the stool next to Elisabeth. He began slathering butter on the pieces of white bread, painstakingly making sure the butter reached every corner evenly. Libba scrutinized her father's motions with the knife and shook her head. "Daddy, it shouldn't take forty-five minutes to butter a slice of bread."

"Leave your old man alone," Lindsey said. "I have one job to do, and I'm going to do it well."

"Let him be," her mother advised. "Is Andrew going to want breakfast?"

"He likes cold cereal in the mornings or leftover pizza," Libba replied and shivered. She rubbed her upper arms and furrowed her brows. "Why is it so cold?"