Seventeen

From twirling on the polished floor -

So dizzy from the spin,

Each paused to take a backward glance,

And turned to whirl again.

Andrea would have liked to sleep late the next morning, but the door bell jarred her awake from a deep slumber. She looked at the clock-radio on her night stand; it was eight fifteen, too early for a visitor. Struggling to focus her mind, she grabbed her robe and rose from bed. Perhaps it was Torry. Had he realized how torturous the ambiguity was for Andrea and had come to say he loved her before driving to Arizona?

She stumbled to the second story window and squinted into the glare of the rising sun reflecting off her mother's car on the drive below.

Her mother? Why had she come? Andrea hurried downstairs, almost tripping as she fastened her robe at the waist. Her parents had planned to take the children directly to school. As she reached for the knob, Andrea glanced in the mirror on the entry wall. Her eyes were puffy and her hair, a fright.

Running her fingers through the tangles, Andrea opened the door. Her mother and Brian stood at the threshold in the biting cold.

"Why aren't you in school?" Andrea asked her son, standing aside to let them in. They stepped through the doorway along with a chilling gust as her mother answered for the boy.

"Brian was feeling a little under the weather so I didn't take him." She set the children's overnight bag on the floor. "He may have a slight fever, but I don't think it's anything to get excited about. He probably has the same thing you had last week."