GENRE: YA fantasy
I could always tell what kind of mood Momma was in by the type of cleaning she was doing. Cleaning out closets and drawers? Sad. Reorganizing every shelf in the house? Frustrated. Wiping down the walls and baseboards? Angry. Polishing the silver? Stressed. So the day I opened the front door to find a pile of clothes lying in front of the coat closet, a bucket filled with vinegar solution standing next to the wall, and the smell of ammonia hanging in the air, I pulled my phone from my purse and texted my brother immediately. “Get home quick. She’s Granny-cleaning.”
I was still standing in the doorway when Sam got there. I’d heard the loud thumping of the car stereo long before I heard the crunch of gravel beneath the jeep’s tires, but I decided to ignore it today. I hated sharing a car with him. He was going to blow our speakers, I just knew it.
He stood behind me and peeked over my head. That was another annoying thing about Sam- for a twin brother, he was entirely too tall. “She ironed the sheets,” he said, nodding toward the ironing board in the hallway. We could just barely see the front end of it, draped with the fitted corner of the pale yellow queen-sized sheets from the guest bed.
“I know,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ears with both hands. “This is bad.”
“You seen her yet?”
I shook my head. “Nope, but I heard furniture moving around upstairs.”