Page 12 of Kiss of Wrath

Miranda assumed she meant broccoli.

Sam, instead of getting ready for school, was demonstrating his new talent, flapping his bent elbows at his side like a chicken, making obscene noises. To an eight-year-old boy, Miranda had come to learn, anything resembling a fart, a belch, or flying snot from a sneeze was considered cool.

His twin, Ben, was on the floor wrestling with his younger brother, Larry. “You killed my tree frog,” Ben accused.

What tree frog? Did we have a frog in this house? Eew!

“It was an accident,” Larry said, squirming out from under Ben and putting a chair between them.

“Why did you put those two crickets in the aquarium?” Ben narrowed his eyes and chased Larry around the table.

Ah, so that’s what the fight is about.

“ ’Cause Johnny Severino tol’ me that frogs eat crickets.”

“Johnny Severino is a retard.”

Oooh! That is not a word we use in this house.

“Is not!”

“Is so! He picks his nose and eats the boogers.”

Eeew!

“So what?” Larry put both hands on his little hips, very brave now that he noticed Miranda had arrived.

“Those big-ass crickets ate my frog.”

Did I just hear an eight-year-old say “big-ass”?

“Frogs are s’posed to eat crickets,” Larry argued. “I looked it up on the Internet.”

“Not crickets big as tree frogs.”

Sam, now over his burst of frog grief, pulled a waffle from the toaster, then put some squirt butter all over the top and on a good portion of the counter as well, with enough syrup to give a small country a sugar rush.

Larry’s twin, Linda, unfazed by the activity around her, slurped up huge spoonfuls of Froot Loops. So much for the organic steel-cut oatmeal Miranda had made early this morning before going upstairs to shower. It was still warming on the stove, probably congealed into concrete.

The dog Ruff, a mostly white mutt the size of a small bear, lay splatted out under the table, also unfazed by the chaos around him. He was waiting for food scraps to drop from the table. There were plenty.

But then Linda glanced up and saw Miranda. “Aunt Mir, Larry got skid marks on his undies again. He hid them in the back of the bathroom closet.”

Larry gasped and cast an icy glare at his twin, then turned to Miranda. “Linda flunked her spelling test.”

Linda was the one looking betrayed now. “I am never, ever speaking to you again.”

Enough was enough! Miranda clapped her hands. “Hey, guys, the bus will be here in ten minutes. Time to get this show on the road.” Usually, Miranda had the gang dressed, backpacked, lunches in order, and out the door waiting on the corner for the bus. Although she employed a house cleaning service, everything else, like meals, had been out of whack since Lupe had gone.

Just then, she noticed that Maggie was weeping silently as she bagged the various sandwiches.

“Honey,” Miranda said, going over and putting an arm around Maggie’s thin shoulders. “What’s the matter?”

“Saturday’s my birthday,” she said on a sob.

“I know that.” Miranda pointed to the calendar on the fridge with a big red heart circling Saturday’s date. “Remember, I asked you if you wanted to have a birthday party, and you said you only wanted family.”

Maggie nodded. She was morbidly shy and had few friends. Another problem Miranda needed to address as soon as she had time to breathe.