On Wednesday Lita was standing the lab and grimacing at the results of her latest experiment wishing she had a magic eight ball to tell her what the hell was going wrong.
“You’re in your head,” Clara approached her. “I know the look on your face and it’s frustration but Lita I know you’re close.”
“It’s right there, on the tip of my fingers but I can’t grasp it,” she smacked the tabletop frustratedly.
“Walk away and come back tomorrow. Do something to clear your head. Maybe a fire marshal.” Clara gave her a playful nudge.
She rolled her eyes, “if I do any more of the fire marshal, I’ll be bow legged.” She fought her smile at Clara’s snicker. “I swear every time I’m home and my father is out of sight, his hands are all over me and dad’s been busy a lot.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not rea
