Chapter 17
The mouthwatering smell of blueberry pancakes lingered in the air as Philip and I emerged from the bedroom half an hour later.
My mother was baking, dishes clattering under her hurried, multitasking hand, the radio dial tuned to easy listening. Her back was to us as we walked into the room. We took seats at the island.
“Good morning,” I said.
She turned, startled, spilling gooey pancake batter off the spatula to the floor. “Good heavens to Betsy. You scared me.”
“Morning, Ms. Rivers.” Philip yawned, reaching behind him and scratching the back of his neck.
“Philip, you’re family. Call me Lori.”
He nodded, and looked over to me, smiling.
I raked his tousled hair.
“How’d you guys sleep?” my mother asked.
“Fine.” Philip yawned.
“And you?” She glanced at me.
“Given our la
