Page 92 of Dream Chaser
“Ew, no.”
“Smart kid, too. He’s the one who came up with this idea. I was gonna build folding stairs.”
“Dad,” I grumble.
He chuckles as he heads to the stairs. “Conversation done, Iz. Be right back; gonna grab some materials.”
“How much weight can this thing hold?” Mags asks Dad.
He shakes his head. “This thing can hold Wile, not you.”
She points to his toolbox. “Can’t you adjust it?”
“Love you, kid, but no. This is for Wile only.”
“Say Iz grabs groceries, and there was a sale on potatoes, so she bought a fifty-pound bag of them; can she put that bag in with Wile?”
“No.”
She gives him a challenging look.
“Either or,” he states firmly.
“So she gets three fifty-pound bags, and Wile is in the Jeep; can she?—”
Dad pulls her hat down over her eyes.
“Uncle Jake!” Mags laughs.
He picks up his toolbox. “I thought you said seven or eight.”
I grab the bucket of mud and a few tools I cleaned off.
“It’s seven or eight somewhere,” Mags says, picking up the rest of the scraps of wood.
After I finish sweeping up the little bit of a mess left over from the project being finished, I grab the mop and make a few quick passes across the hardwoods. It smells like eucalyptus and peppermint, Mom’s special blend that works miracles on deterring pests from wanting to call your place home.
Mags is halfway down the stairs by the time I wring out the mop and prop it in the bucket to dry next to the door.
“My room is all set up,” she calls, bounding into the living room in thick socks. “Aunt Sarah must have stocked it with enough of my favorite granola trail mix for a year. Either she’s trying to adopt me or thinks I’m a rescue raccoon.”
“Maybe both,” I mutter, but my smile doesn’t quite stick.
The quiet hits me as soon as she flops dramatically onto the couch, arms stretched over the back like she owns the place, and rightfully so. Soon enough, it will be her space, too. It’s too quiet. No sound of Wile’s claws on the floor, no tail thudding rhythmically against the floor when I glance his way.
“He’ll be fine,” I tell myself under my breath, too low for her to hear.
I hated leaving him with my parents. But the stairs are steep, and he was so tired, and when Dad said he’d probably like the peace of being home during girls’ night, I didn’t argue. I’m sure he was exhausted. Like me, I’m sure he didn’t get enough sleep last night.
“I cannot wait until school is over,” Mags groans, flopping harder, like she’s trying to make the furniture feel her pain.
“You only have a few more months,” I say, trying to shake the ache and focus on her.
“Easy for you to say, you’re already old and wise.”
I arch a brow. “I’m twenty-one.”
“Exactly.” She grins. “Basically ancient.”
