adinasyliatroy

I pull a cookbook from its shelf, right next to the ceramic bowls, flip through the batter-stained pages.   His orange and white hairs still cling to my sweatshirt, a touch of blood smeared across the collar.   At last, I find the recipe I was searching for. Peanut butter cookies.  My finger traces down the list of ingredients: two and one fourth cups all-purpose flour, one teaspoon baking soda, two eggs. A rustle comes from the next room over, and I pause—glancing up, past the breakfast bar.   My sister is lying on the den couch, her face to the backrest.   A blanket is s