Two Minutes in the Shatter Shed [Short]

Two Minutes in the Shatter Shed

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The patchwork quilt on my bed was in the same place as it was when I made it half an hour ago, only wrinkled. Genna was wrapped in hers tightly. She said she was cold, but the fireplace had me toasting.

"Why would you go and do that?" I asked. "You know Dad's going to ask you to make it again once we come back."

"So?" She rolled away from me and faced the window. "I'm comfy."

I sat up. "And lookit, the window's open. What's the point of a fire?"

"The temperatures balance out."

"Then you could just close the window and put out the fire."

"Doesn't work like that," she said. "The cold is good for my pores." My sister killed me sometimes.

"Yeah, well, it'll also dry your face out 'til you look like a potato." I pulled my cheeks down toward my mouth because that's what a potato looked like to me. She didn't turn, but she saw me in the window pane.

"Screw off, Jean."

"I'm just saying," I said, "if anyone sees that you've got the fire going and the window open, you're getting it."

"Pfft. Dad doesn't care anymore. You know, I think he loves that study more than he loves any of us."

"He sure spends a lot of time in there," I said. "What could a man do there all day, anyway?"

"Work, answer the phone, read the paper while waiting for dinner. Terrorize his trouser snake."

"Ew, Genna."

"You don't believe me?"

"Why would he need to do that when he's got a wife already? Wouldn't you be offended if you were married and your husband still did that?"

"No," she said. "That's just how boys are."

"I would never want to be a boy."

"Good thing you aren't one, then."

A voice reverberated off the stairs from above us. "Is everybody decent?"

Genna stayed put. "Yep," I called.

I waited until the last possible second, then hurried over and shut her window.

"I thought you were ready." Dad had his blue suit on, as he usually did on Sundays. "What's she doing back in bed?"

"I'm not sleeping," Genna said.

"Hurry up then, please." He disappeared through the door.

I opened the closet door. Since we were little children, Mom would make us wear dresses to everything. It wasn't until two summers ago that I could finally wear jeans. I mentally thanked my old self for fighting that one.

Up in the kitchen, Mom was adding kettle water to oatmeal. She wore slippers.

"Are you coming?" I asked.

"Maybe I'll walk over later," she said. "Leroy's got a fever."

"Still?" Genna put her boots on. "He must be making it up by now."

I knew she was right. Lately, our brother's interest in church had been decreasing.

"Well, I checked his forehead..." Mom looked out the window absentmindedly.