Buddy handed Cole a loaded grocery sack, cocking his eyebrow as if to say, you know what to do with this, and exited the kitchen. He returned with another sack of equal size and began unloading the purchases, putting them away in shelves and drawers. Cole set the sack down on the counter and stared. He looked past Buddy to his father, who was talking on the phone to one of his golfing buddies, giving him a play-byplay of his latest trip to the doctor. A sack ripped, Cole looked, grimacing as Buddy tore into a package of cookies and sampled them before transferring them to the cookie jar on the cabinet.

One very new, but important, member of their family was notably absent. Debbie was nowhere in sight.

“Where Debbie?” Cole asked.

Morgan waved his arm and mouthed something Cole couldn’t understand.

“Buddy, where’s Debbie?”

Buddy thrust his arm down to the bottom of the grocery bag and pulled out a six-pack of yogurt.

“Mmm, peach,” he muttered, and rummaged in the drawer for a spoon.

Cole took a deep breath and then counted to three. It didn’t do any good.

“Dammit to hell, Robert Allen Brownfield. I asked you a question!”

Buddy raised his eyebrows and licked his spoon. “You don’t have to yell,” he said calmly and then shrugged. “I guess she’s still in the car.”

Cole was dumbfounded. What in hell was the matter with his family?

“Car? Why wouldn’t she come in when the rest of you did? What’s wrong with her? She’s not sick again is she?”

His voice rose an octave with each question until, finally, even his father realized there was about to be a brotherly confrontation.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Morgan hissed, covering the receiver with his hand.

“Why the hell is Debbie still in the car? You act as if she didn’t exist.”

Cole threw the accusation out into the sudden silence of the kitchen as anger sent him outside to check. Morgan and Buddy stared at each other, recognized the guilt each was wearing, and quickly followed.

“She’s asleep,” Morgan called, but it was too late. Cole was already gone.

Everything dire that he could imagine came and went as Cole hurried to the family station wagon parked beneath the shady carport. His heart knocked against his rib cage as he yanked open the back door and knelt, expecting the worst.

His hand was shaking as he slid it gently across her face, smoothing the tousled jumble of curls away from her eyes. Her forehead was cool, her breathing slow and even. There was no pale, clammy countenance, only a rosy flush across her cheeks and a soft sigh that escaped from between slightly parted lips as Cole’s fingers moved a curl out of her eye.

She was only asleep.

“Come here, Little Red,” Cole whispered.