Because of the unusually warm winter, the deer ticks are a real problem this year which means Robyn and I perform a full-body, clothes-off-n***d search on both kids in the bathroom off the kitchen. When we’re satisfied both of them are tick free, we get them redressed and make them sit down at the kitchen table while Sam pours us all glasses of fresh lemonade.
“Okay,” I say, shooting Robyn a look, “who wants to go first?”
Sam also puts out some chocolate chip cookies that we made from scratch the night before. Molly goes for one, but Robyn puts her hand out, blocks the attempt.
“Un uh, Mol,” she says. “Not until you tell us why you went into that cornfield when you understand full well the farmhouse rules.”
Molly slowly retreats her hand. She gazes at Mike like she’s looking for his
