Morning for Jennalee came with Bach and it took her a second to decide she was awake and another to realize it was Harley up on the bluff. She sat up to find Lizann sitting on her sleeping bag, listening as she sipped coffee. Earl wasn’t in sight.
“Sleepy head,” Lizann said. “It’s nearly eight.”
Jennalee was dealing with morning grunge in her mouth, sleepy bits in her eyes, and the certainty her short hair must be totally haystack. Lizann handed her the coffee and she took a sip, the hot and bitter liquid snapping her to attention. She recognized the cup as one from the continental breakfast. She didn’t really like coffee, but took a second sip to rouse herself. Settled somewhat, she glanced at Lizann, who bore a faint smile as she listened to her son’s violin.
“I know it’s Bach,” said
