A Quietly Forming Collapse

Sierra setting the table. Grandma Betty bustling in the kitchen.

Sunday. Says Sundays are always special. She'd called Johannes in from the backyard a half hour ago. He emerges now freshly showered.

The little house is full of the smells of what's cooking. Cajun broiled shrimp. Ham, but tangier, as if mingled with genoa salami. Worcestershire BBQ sauce, homemade. Salad. Vinagrette dressing, tossed with smoked provolone cheese. Fresh French bread with garlic butter remoulade sauce.

Sitting down to eat, it's easy for Sierra to forget they're not a family.
Easy to foget a lot of things. Amidst chatter. Laughter. Love.