PHOEBE
I sat on the porch off the greenhouse, where I had a view of the road, and waited for the Guard Unit’s armored vehicles.
“A watched pot never boils,” Al said and took the rocker next to me.
“I know,” I sighed. “But I can’t help it.”
“Chance and Dan should be pretty well healed by the time they get back, right?”
“Physically. But Chance’s dad had several broken bones, a punctured lung and internal bleeding. He’ll take longer. And dad—well, Mom may never Heal.”
“Well you sit here as long as you need to. They shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“Thanks, Al.”
The longer I sat, the more I let myself sink into depression. I came up with all sorts of reasons why I shouldn’t be here, waiting for my fiancé, who might not even be happy to see me.
I convinced myself that I should go bac
