Lost Souls

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“Caitydid, quick! Get the bell jar!”

Annoyed at the interruption, the girl looked up from the homework spread on the dining room table to see her mother dart through the room, her flowered skirt swishing around slender legs. Mama was heading toward the kitchen, her hands cupped together.

The girl’s stomach tightened in a knot. She knew where this action was heading—yet another attempt by her well-meaning mother to bring her daughter out of her blue funk. “Mama, now? I have a test to study for.”

Laughter trilled. “It’s only math! Algebra can wait. Come, I’ll need your help.”

The girl sighed and set down her pencil. A basic understanding of math was needed—even for spell-weaving. Morin understood that. Morin also understood the need for grieving. The dead deserved respect. Her mother’s seeming need to inject happiness in their quiet house grated. As she followed her mother, she dragged her feet.

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