6

“Mawhly! Mawh-ly! She’s here, Lukey, she’s here!” Liza hollered from the old swing set at the back of the yard. She jumped from the swing at it’s highest arc and ran to Molly, long, brown pig tails whipping as she galloped to the patio. Liza was tiny for a three-year-old but made up for it in speed. The girl did everything fast—run, walk, talk, eat, sleep, and love. Luke, a late walker and a constant smiler, ambled after Liza like he was saddle sore with a slobbery grin. The kid had yet to outgrow his intrigue with spittle. He started blowing bubbles at three months old and never really stopped. He nearly always had some spit somewhere on his face. A long stringy bit swung back and forth like a pendulum ticking out the time as Molly took in the scene around her. Farthest from Molly sat Aunt Alice in her wheelchair next to a few empty lawn chairs. In between them was the old redwood picnic table her grandpa had made in the middle. Most of Annie’s kids where sitting there in varying degrees of impatience waiting for food. Molly heard the sound of dishes and cooking and happy conversation coming from the partly open sliding doors.

“She’s your Aunt, Liza. You should call her Aunt Molly,” said Annie’s five year old Sarah. Liza ignored her and kept shouting “Mawhly!” and running full speed. The smell of Grandma Brown’s meatloaf mixed with the smell of the mosquito candle and for a brief second, Molly heard the echo of her mother’s laugh. And then she saw green as Liza barreled into Molly’s legs, toppling her into the hedge she’d just come around. All at once, Liza and Mike started laughing, Sarah scolding, Luke crying, and Aunt Alice probably rolled her eyes.