If the guy giving the presentation about the space-time continuum theory had looked more like Commander Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation instead of Yoda, Joey might have bought into that one. But the Yoda clone looked like he was a recovering homeless person.
The voices grew louder.
“What am I supposed to do, Mrs. Gander? I need to find my mom.”
Bewildered, Joey stopped and stared into the living room.
At least twenty kids were gathered there, some of them flopped on the couch and the easy chair. More of them sat in the floor. Most of them looked like they’d just gotten up from bed. All of them watched the television news footage about the disappearances and the fighting going on in Turkey and Syria, like the TV might hold the answer to all their unsolved problems.
Joey recognized some of the kids from around the base. He recognized others from the files his mom sometimes carried home from work. Of course, he was never supposed to look at those files, but he had anyway because who could have resisted them just sitting there in her file case. He’d wanted to know how messed up other kids’ lives were, to get a better idea of where his own life had gone wrong. He felt guilty about looking at the files now.
All of the kids in the files had been dealing with problems: anger management issues, new stepparents, divorced parents, dead parents, parents who cared too much and parents who cared too little, drug problems and drinking problems, poverty, self-esteem, and learning disorders. Compared to them, he was normal. He just wasn’t happy about it and didn’t know how to change it. He stared at the kids.
What were they doing in his house?
“I’ll tell you what we’re not going to do, Anna,” his mom said from the kitchen. “We’re not going to panic. We’re going to take this one step at a time. As soon as the phones come back on again, we’re going to find out where your grandparents are and how they’re doing.”
“My grandparents?” Anna slapped the kitchen table. “Mrs. Gander, I can’t live with my grandparents! My mom didn’t even want to live with my grandparents!” The young teen’s voice was almost a shriek.
“Anna,” his mom said patiently, “calm down. We’re in the damage control phase. You remember the damage control phase from counseling, right?”
Dazed, Joey walked through the living room to the kitchen, having to step over the bodies that nearly covered the carpet. He detected the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
His mom stood at the stove, using a spatula to remove fresh cookies from the baking sheet. She wore an apron. Baking was something his mom used as an outlet for her stress. Joey could always tell when his mom had a bad day because she would turn the stove on, get the apron out, and pull out her to-be-tried recipes. During days when the weather had been too wet or too cold, she’d also spent time baking with Chris. She’d never done that with Joey.
Jenny stood at the counter with a couple of young teen girls. They poured flour and other ingredients into a large mixing bowl.
Other young teens and some older teens sat around the dining room table or on the floor up against the two back walls out of the way of the baking. A young teen girl with braces smiled shyly at Joey. A boy with a sullen expression said, “Mrs. Gander, Joey’s awake.”
Joey’s immediate impulse was to ask the guy who’d made him watch commander, but he curbed the words. No matter what was going on, he had the definite impression that a smart-alecky remark wasn’t going to be a good idea.
His mom turned to face him. Flour marked one of her cheeks and her bangs. “Good morning, Joey.”
Joey nodded.
“We have company,” his mom said.
“Yeah,” he said sourly. “I kind of got that.” His mom hesitated, then looked over at Jenny, who was looking back at her. “Jenny, could you talk to Joey and explain things?”
Jenny smiled. “Sure. You’ve got another batch of cookie dough ready here.”
“Good.”
Jenny wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “We’ll need some more flour and sugar before we make another batch. We scraped the bottom of the canisters to get this one.”
“Okay.” His mom nodded, already making decisions the way she did when she got on a mission. At least, that was what Goose called it when his mom got into the get-it-done-yesterday mode. “We’ll work on peanut brittle next. I was planning to make some for Easter, so I have the necessary ingredients. Maybe Joey can go to the commissary for flour and sugar later.” His mom looked at him. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Joey?”
He didn’t answer at first, too stunned to reply. Chris had vanished, Goose was in a border war, and she was baking with juvenile delinquents from all over Fort Benning. “Sure. I don’t mind.” But he did mind. He just couldn’t tell her that.
“Let’s go, Joey.” Jenny looped her arm through his in a manner that was just too familiar after everything they had been through last night. She pulled him after her toward the utility room off the kitchen.
Joey reluctantly followed her, suddenly resenting the fact that Jenny was still in his house. At the same time, he knew from the looks on the faces of most of the teenaged boys in the kitchen that he was the envy of them all with Jenny on his arm.
Jenny led him through the small utility room and out the back door. They stood on the covered back porch amid the ceramic pots that would hold plants and flowers a month or two from now.
If things ever get
