Here We Come (Aggie's Inheritance) (55 page)

At
the
bottom
of
the
stairs,
it
just
looked
worse
from
all
angles.
Toys
were
scattered
from
the
front
door,
down
the
hall,
and
across
the
living
and
dining
rooms.
The
washing
machine
was
thumping
madly,
a
signal
that
someone
had
tried
to
help—again.
Just
as
she
reached
it,
and
managed
to
shift
the
sheets
equally
around
the
agitator,
a
crash
sounded
in
the
kitchen
followed
by
the
utterly
delightful
tinkling
of
breaking
glass.

The
scratched
record
of
her
life
reverberated
in
her
mind.
“Delightful
sound
my
eye,”
she
muttered,
racing
to
make
sure
that
there
would
be
no
geysers
of
blood
adding
to
the
day’s
nightmare.

“Aunt
Aggie,
we—”
Vannie
lowered
her
voice
at
Aggie’s
appearance
in
the
kitchen.
“—have
a
problem.”

“I
see
that.
Get
out.”

“I’m
sorry—”

“Get
. O
ut.”
A
vague
sense
of
self-recrimination
told
her
she’d
regret
something
later,
but
Aggie
couldn’t
concentrate.
She
had
one
thing
to
do—clean
up
four
destroyed
baking
dishes
before
it
became
Aggigeddon
in
the
kitchen.

“Can
I
help—”

“No.
Just
get
out,
Laird.
Go.
I
do
not
want
to
see
a
single
child’s
face
until
I
am
done
with
this.
Got
that?
”

“Yeah.”

Shattered
glass
seemed
to
multiply
with
contact
to
the
floor.
How
Vannie
had
managed
to
break
all
four
at
once
made
no
sense.
The
last
time
she
had
dropped
a
dish,
it
just
bounced
off
the
wood
floor
without
even a single
chip
of
glass,
but
this…

B
ox.
She
needed
a
box.
Glass
would
slice
through
plastic
trash
bags, right?
Of
course
it
would.
Box.
Where—basement.
C
leanup
took
twice
as
long
as
necessary;
Aggie’s
brain
refused
to
cooperate.
Every
move
she
made
had
to
be
considered
and
decided.
Four
times
she
swept
every
inch
of
the
kitchen,
and
each
one
revealed
a
new
chunk
or
shard
just
waiting
to
slice
open
a
foot
in
the
dead
of
night,
necessitating
a
trip
to
the
clinic. N
ow
there
was
no
one
to
stay
behind
with
the
kids; t
here
could
be
no
leftovers.

She
grabbed
the
mop.
It
took
an
hour
to
sweep
and
mop
without
any
evidence
of
another
piece
of
the
glass.
The
children
were
ominously
silent,
but
Aggie
didn’t
have
the
emotional
strength
to
search
them
out
and
discover
why.
She
finished
cleaning
the
kitchen—desperate
for
one
spotless
room
before
she
headed
into
the
living
room.
Ribbons,
wrapping
paper,
and
tape
seemed
attached
to
every
surface.
Starting
at
one
corner,
she
began
wadding
and
rolling,
trying
to
get
every
bit
up
off
the
floor
and
furniture
,
hoping
that
the
result
would
give
her
some
confidence
that
the
kids
could
finish
by
picking
up
the
toys.