‘But lay him down. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. Mrs. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her.
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