Free The Sound of Glass by Karen White Page B

where she worked two shifts every day. She was always there for Loralee when she came home from school, and each morning ready and dressed in her uniform and apron. She’d be standing at the two-burner oven in the corner of the trailer they called the kitchen, frying up bacon or flipping flapjacks from batter that the diner’s cook had slipped Desiree in a small Tupperware bowl.
    Loralee gripped the edge of the counter and leaned on her arms as she closed her eyes. The smell wasn’t agreeing with her this morning, stealing what little appetite she still had. She heard Owen’ssteady steps down the hallway and quickly straightened and put a smile on her face. She placed two fried eggs on a plate and then selected a couple of strips of bacon, arranging them so it looked like a smiley face.
    Owen entered the kitchen and blinked sleepily at her before settling in at the old Formica kitchen table. Out of habit, Loralee took his glasses from his face and cleaned them with the hem of her skirt. He was wearing the new pair of jeans she’d bought the previous day, the crease in the middle still sharp. His knit golf shirt with the little man playing polo stuck on the left corner was buttoned up to his neck.
    As Loralee replaced his glasses, she resisted the pull to unbutton the top button and to rumple his hair, which had been parted and combed down with water. He liked it that way, he’d told her, because his daddy had worn his hair like that.
    “Good morning, Owen,” she said, kissing the top of his head, relieved that he hadn’t pulled away when she kissed him. She knew that was part of growing up, and she accepted that. She just wasn’t ready for it yet.
    “Good morning, Mama,” he said, staring down at his plate. He put both elbows on the table and let out a heavy sigh.
    “What’s the matter?” she asked, stopping at the side of the table.
    He shrugged a bony shoulder. “I like the smiley face—I really do. But if I go to a real school here, don’t do that with anything you pack in my lunch box, okay?”
    “Sure,” she said, smiling although it hurt her to do it. “I understand.” And she did. It was just too soon.
    “So you’re already talking about schools here?”
    They both turned to see Merritt standing in the kitchen doorway. She wore another shapeless skirt that was too long for her, and a beige blouse that did nothing for her coloring. Her beautiful dark hair was scraped off her face into a low ponytail, and her face was bare of any makeup. Her skin was pale but perfect, and Loraleeitched to sit her down and put some color on her lips and cheeks. She didn’t even have earrings in her earlobes, leaving Loralee to wonder whether she didn’t have her ears pierced, or maybe there wasn’t a mirror in her bedroom and she hadn’t noticed that she’d forgotten to accessorize.
    Loralee pulled out a chair across from Owen. “I’m making breakfast—eggs, bacon, toast, and I’ve got blueberries just in case you have a hankering for blueberry pancakes.”
    Her stepdaughter looked as if she would refuse the chair until she saw Owen’s hopeful expression. She sat down on the edge of the chair as if she didn’t plan to be there for very long, and said, “Just coffee, please. I usually don’t eat breakfast.”
    Loralee walked over to the old percolator and poured steaming coffee into a chipped china cup before bringing it over to the table. “But breakfast is the most important meal of the day. My mama . . .” She stopped when she saw the look on Merritt’s face. “Cream or sugar?” she asked instead.
    “Just black,” Merritt said, then added, “Thank you,” as if remembering her manners. She blew across the top of her cup and took a sip, looking up at Loralee as she did so. “So, what’s this about looking for schools? You’ve been here less than a day. I’m sure there are other places you should consider before making a decision.”
    Loralee turned her back to the table and cracked two