"Mom! Angie has her feet on the seat!"
"I do not Sam!" Angie whined as she deftly slipped them back to the car floor.
"Please, you two. Stop tattling and learn to get along. You're siblings, and you should be protecting each other, not trying to get the other into trouble."
Mom loved us, trying as we were. I was a sweet little eight-year-old with a propensity to mischief and Sam; my 12-year-old brother was the protector. We were so full of life then, but it was our mother that had that spark of soul that seemed to dim all others around her. Her only hope for us was that we would, one day, finally realize how much we need each other. The world is cruel, but together, we would be just fine.
"I want to see him," Angie said to the...
Please subscribe to keep reading.