Free Waiting for Morning by Karen Kingsbury Page A

Grant, Steven Curtis Chapman, Michael W. Smith, Jars of Clay.
    “My batteries are dead.”
    “Mine, too. Can you ask Dad if we can stop and get some on the way out of town?”
    Jenny had bounced up. “Sure. Be right back.” She bounded down the stairs and in a minute returned and threw herself again on Alicia’s bed. “Done.”
    Amy Grant’s voice filled the room, and Jenny watched Alicia dance around, snagging a shirt from her closet and jeans from her dresser drawer. Jenny had wondered if one day she might be as pretty and popular as Alicia. Her older sister’s cheerleading uniform lay on the floor near her bed, and Jenny bent down to pick it up.
    Alicia was involved in everything. Cheerleading, student council, drama. She had so many friends, and she was good at whatever she tried.
    “My room’s such a mess.” Alicia used her foot to move a pile of clothes against her bed. “I never have enough time.”
    Jenny considered the floor. “Pretty bad.”
    “Uuugh. It’s a total mess.” She stopped for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re already packed?”
    “Yep. Wasn’t much. I mean, what can you take on the old, annual camping trip? You know Dad. We’ll spend half the time on the lake catching fish.”
    Alicia froze and glanced back at her duffel bag. “True—” She turned abruptly and began digging in her drawer again. “But I have to have the right shorts … and then if it gets cold, I need my woolly sweatshirt … and at night, you know, around the campfire I like my old jeans …” Her voice drifted as she rummaged through a series of drawers. “If I could just find them.”
    Jenny stood and stretched. She picked up a shirt from Alicia’s floor, turned it right-side out, folded it in half, and set it on her sister’s bed. “I hate it when that happens.”
    She made no mention of the fact that she was cleaning Alicia’s mess as she bent down and picked up a rumpled pair of shorts. When the pile of clothes was neatly folded on her sister’s bed, Jenny headed for the door. “I just remembered something. My Christy Miller book. I have to bring it.”
    Alicia straightened and looked around her room. “Jenny! Hey, thanks. You’re so nice. You didn’t have to clean my room.”
    Jenny shrugged. “No big deal. That way you’ll be done faster. Maybe we can play horse out in the driveway with Dad after dinner.”
    “You’re the best sister in the world.” Alicia left the tangled web of clothing spilling from her bottom drawer and came to hug Jenny. Then she grinned. “But I’ll still beat you at horse.”
    Jenny had laughed and returned to her room. A moment passed while she searched for the book, and then she’d heard it. Three soft thuds on the bedroom wall.
    Was that just a few weeks ago? It seems like years … like it had happened to someone else .
    Jenny’s lips trembled and she closed her eyes against the tears. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs she wiped her eyes quickly, then turned to watch her mother enter the room. Mom looked angry again, disappointed. Is it because I’m the one who lived? Anxiety threatened to strangle Jenny, as it did every time she asked herself these questions. Would Mom be so angry all the time if Alicia were still here instead of me? Alicia had had so much going for her. If one of us was going to live, it should have been Alicia . Jenny swallowed and blinked twice as her mother crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed.
    “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Her mother sounded tired, robotic. Jenny tried to remember the last time she’d looked or sounded tender.
    She couldn’t remember one time since the accident.
    She turned away and stared at the wall. “I’ve been here.”
    Her mother sighed. “You’re always here. Can’t you come downstairs and spend some time with—”
    “With whom?” Jenny turned back toward her mother. “The family? We don’t have a family anymore, Mom, remember? You keep