The kitchen filled with the aroma of pancakes, soft talk in the late night/very early morning, the sky nowhere close to hinting at dawn. Gram wielded her favorite spatula like a weapon as Charlotte hovered by the door, staring out into the dark. Shenka squeezed my shoulder as she went about her usual business and I realized then, we'd made ourselves an oddly organized and predictable family. With a routine. I felt like the 50s dad who sat around while life went on without him, waiting to be served.
Charlotte's low growl and subsequent reach for the door made me tense, only to relax as she pulled it open to reveal a yawning Trill.
"Felt a disturbance in the house," she said. "I take it something happened?"
She listened quietly, helping herself to pancakes as I told her about Alison. I sighed. One more thing to worry about, one more loose thread I let fall and fray because I forgot or was distracted by other things.