Page 77 of These Summer Storms

“Well. Whatever else is happening today,” Emily said, calmly, sliding an arm around Elisabeth’s shoulders, “Mom is taking a break.”

“A…break?” Greta repeated the word as though Emily were speaking a foreign language, which made sense, as in her whole life Elisabeth Storm had never taken a break.

Emily nodded. “Exactly.”

Elisabeth turned to face her youngest. “Emily. You have lovely eyes. You look so much like me.”

“Yup!” Emily said, “Maybe we could go get some water or something? Are you thirsty?”

Elisabeth smacked her lips, testing her answer. “Maybe?”

What. Was happening. It was almost like…“Ohhhhmygod,” Alice said, staring. “She’shigh.”

The entire gathering went still.

“That’s impossible,” Greta said, taking Elisabeth’s other arm. “How could she be—”

“I am?” Elisabeth asked, seeming fairly disinterested in the answer.

“What thefuck,Greta?” Sam said, coming off the wall.

“What do you want from me?” Greta said. “I’m sure Mom didn’t mean to get high, Sam.” It was an understatement almost beyond comprehension. Elisabeth Storm wouldnever.

“She did it on your watch,” he said.

“I’m not her keeper,” Greta snapped back.

“You sure about that?”

“Okay, Sam. You’re being unhelpful and obnoxious,” Alice interjected. “It doesn’t matter how it happened—”

“What happened?” Claudia entered from the hallway to the kitchen.

Sam spun to face her. “You!”

Claudia’s brows rose. “What about me?”

“You dosed our mother!” He looked to Emily and spoke to everyone. “Of course she did. They brought a fucking pharmacy with them. I can smell the two of you getting high every night; my room is directly below yours, Emily.”

“Oh, I know,” Emily shot back. “I can hear the two ofyouscreaming at each other every night. You might remember you have children with working ears, Sam.”

Yikes.

“You’re such a little bi—”

“Hey!” Claudia stepped in. “Watch it.”

“Or what, you’ll drug me, too?”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Claudia said, surprising them all.

“Claud.” Emily set a hand on her wife’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“You know what?” Sam said. “You’re also a bi—”

“Sam.” The single syllable cut through the small space, shatteringly quiet and full of warning. Everyone looked toward Jack, by the door, standing in a pillar of mottled light—the sun finding him through a massive stained-glass window high on the wall, making him look like a marble statue, set there to pass judgment on them all, his opinion clear in the set of his jaw.

Alice ignored the response that tumbled through her in the beat that passed, no one speaking, the full focus of Jack’s taciturn gaze on her brother. “That’s enough.”

---