“Yes, Coach Mom!” Both boys chorused.
While the rice simmered, I could still hear them talking. Myra’s questions were endless.
“Why is the whale sleepy?”
“Because bedtime tells him to be,” Elijah said.
“Why are the stars so shiny?”
“So they can spy on wishes,” Caleb answered.
She gasped. “Then I won’t tell them mine!”
I smiled to myself, tasting the soup for salt. They were getting along better than I dared hope. Maybe too well.
When I went to check on them, Myra was curled between the twins on the floor, the beanbag now a throne for three. Elijah was showing her a sketchbook. “This is Mom as a superhero.”
The drawing was all curls and cape.
“She’s strong,” Myra said, touching the edge carefully.
“She yells sometimes too,” Caleb added.
“Only when you deserve it,” I said behind
