I was in the kitchen when Amy wandered down from Meg’s old room, wearing a silky camisole and boxers. “Oh God, are you making coffee? Can I have some?”
“Sure.” I spooned more grounds into the filter. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She sat on the edge of the counter, swinging her feet. Her toenail polish was blue, to match her underwear. Her wrists were so delicate. Her ankle bones stuck out.
I felt a twinge of envy. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Nope.” She yawned. “I’m surprised you’re awake.”
I smiled. “Up with the sun, Momma says.” Or before the sun, in kidding season. “Do you want me to make you some toast or something?”
“I’m good. But I’ll sit down with you if you want breakfast.”
“Oh, I already ate.”
Amy’s eyes narrowed. I tensed. Our youngest sister was more perceptive than most people thought. But then she grinned. “I guess you and Colt worked up an appetite. After all that noise you made last night.”
I ignored the tight ball in my stomach. “That wasn’t me.”
She grinned. “Hey, at least you were enjoying yourself.”
“But I didn’t.” Amy’s eyebrows shot up. “Make noise,” I clarified.
“It’s okay. I won’t tell Mom.”
“Tell me what?” Our mother appeared, wrapped in her bathrobe.
I threw Amy an agonized look.
It’s not like we never discussed sex with our mother. After Jo got her period without a word to anyone, Mom sat us down, Amy and me, and told us matter-of-factly what to expect. We could have babies now, she explained briskly, so we needed to be careful. Sex was a gift from God intended to sustain loving relationships between wives and their husbands. Not something casual. Amy had peppered our mother with questions, totally mortifying me. I already disliked my changing, awkward body. I really didn’t want to talk about it.
“Tell me what?” Mom repeated.
“I, um...”
“Coffee?” Amy asked blandly.
“Thanks, honey.” She took down two mugs from the cupboard.
“I’ve already got mine,” Amy said.
Our mother busied herself pouring coffee, not quite meeting our eyes. “It’s for your father.”
“Daddy?” Amy asked.
“Mom?” Bewilderment thinned my voice. If our father was here... Those noises Amy heard...
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Amy said. “Am I the only one in this family who didn’t have Drunken Wedding Sex last night?”
“Are you... Are you and Dad getting back together?” I asked.
Our mother pressed her lips together, stirring her coffee with vigor.
There was a knock on the back door. “I smelled coffee,” a man’s voice said. Dan Harkins, who helped Momma around the farm.
“You can have mine,” I offered.
Our mother belted her robe tighter. “I’ll make more. Come in, Dan.”
