Janey Germaine stood in front of her mirror, wondering when the lines around her eyes had gotten so deep. Or when the bags underneath had become so dark.
“Mom!” Her twelve-year-old son yelled from the kitchen, and Janey startled away from her reflection. So much had happened over the past decade and a half, and each line probably had a dozen stories to tell.
So don’t be embarrassed by them, she told herself as she exited her bedroom and found Jess standing in the kitchen, the pantry door flung wide in front of him.
So don’t be embarrassed by them“Do we have any blueberry Pop-Tarts?”
“If we do, they’ll be in there.”
“I don’t see them.”
“Then we don’t have any.”
Jess grumbled and frowned and slammed the pantry door, shaking the old house. She’d bought it the first summer she’d returne
