Chapter 13My aunt's car was in the drive when I got home. My butterflies were back, but for a different reason.
“I need to speak to Uncle John,” I said to my aunt the minute I came through the door.
“Oh, honey, you can't. His sore throat isn't any better. If anything, it's worse. I took him to the doctor. Said it wasn't strep, at least. But he's on penicillin.”
I slumped, letting the swear word come out as a hiss.
“Why? What's the matter?” she asked.
“I'm sorry he's feeling bad. I need to talk to him, but this can wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well,” I glanced up at her and swiped my hair out of my face. I needed to find my barrette to hold it all back. “You need to know too, of course.”
She wrung out the dish cloth in her hands, folded it and draped it over the oven handle. She stepped
