Brea
was Rebecca’s wild child. She’d kicked off whatever southern heat might still
cling to her genes and rejoiced in the ice of the land of a thousand lakes.
Trish
consumed sunshine through her skin. She gloried in the rays and the warmth, thinking
of winter even in August as she stored memories along with the thermals. She
divided her clothing into three seasons: summer, winter, and the in-betweens of
fall and spring. She didn’t wear boots until the snow fell but by October,
she’d stop wearing sandals and sleeveless tops. Everything in its season.
Trish
was Rebecca’s mild child. A person might think she carried the South in her
veins and sought to thaw Minnesota from her blood.
You’d
think Brea needed taming, and you’d be right. But Rebecca heeding the
warning about still waters knew it takes more than boots and clothing to regulate
temperament. And Trish called herself a hot blooded woman.
