2. Prescription For Love

Margie filled a saucer with water and placed it in one corner of the box. The small noisy balls of fluff hopped in a scrum over to the dish and pecked at the water.

Blake grinned. Weird that watching chickens, something he’d never given a thought to before, could create a little spurt of happiness. He laughed and didn’t even feel dumb about it. “They’re really cute.”

“Wait’ll they start to molt in a few days. They look so totally alien, half down and half feathers.” “What about food?”

Margie sighed. “Yeah, I know. The chicken food is in the barn.” “Oh.” Blake didn’t need to say it. Off-limits.

“Do you think starving chicks constitutes an emergency?” Margie’s blond brows were drawn down, like she was working out a difficult math problem. Or plotting how to avoid getting caught coming in after curfew.

“Well, we can’t let them go hungry.” Blake was okay being stuck inside overnight, especially since he’d given his word on it, and he could live forever and be happy never to get caught in another storm like the one that just tore through, but the chicks

“We didn’t figure them into our decision.”

“The tack room is up at the front of the barn. That part didn’t look damaged.”

Blake walked out onto the back porch. Other than the glow from the kitchen, there were no lights anywhere. The sky was completely black. No stars, no hazy cloud of reflected illumination hanging on the horizon. “Hey, Margie? Isn’t there supposed to be a light over the barn?” Margie joined him. “Yeah. The line down there must be out.”

“We have the flashlight, right?” “Yep. What do you think?”

“We promised Flann and my mom we wouldn’t go out, but

” Blake wrestled with the dilemma. “That was about us being safe, right?”

“Right. We didn’t discuss contingencies and emergencies. Flann wouldn’t want us to stay in the house if it caught on fire.”

“I think letting the chickens starve constitutes about the same level of emergency as the house burning down.”

“Totally.” Margie’s eyes sparkled in the slanted light from behind them, and the gold in her hair almost looked like a halo, but her grin was anything but angelic. Her tilted smile said she’d take a risk and not mind facing the consequences. “Flann will kill us if we get hurt.”

“So will my mom.” Blake knew they both knew they’d most likely get grounded and lectured at, which they’d survive, but he hated disappointing his mom. And he didn’t want to look bad in front of Flann. He pictured the little yellow fluff balls and how eagerly they went after the water. They must be hungry. “It’s not raining anymore. What are the chances another one of those twisters will come through?”

“I don’t know. This is the first one I’ve been around for.” Margie looped an arm around the porch post and swung out and back. “It’s only gonna take us five minutes, max, to get to the barn and back.” “I say we do it.” Blake stepped down onto the ground.

“Yep. Me too. I’ll get the light.”

Margie led the way to the driveway with the flashlight, holding Blake’s hand. “There’s a tree down just there. We can skirt around it.”

“What about power lines?” Blake hopped to avoid a huge puddle and almost managed it. On the landing, water soaked into his right tennis shoe. He tried not to think about what might be in the water.

“The lines are buried out here, so we should be okay.”

“Great.” Blake eased off his grip on Margie’s fingers, but didn’t let go. It was really dark.

The chicken food was just inside the tack room in a big aluminum can. Margie played the light around until they spotted an empty feed bucket. Blake filled it with a couple of inches of chicken feed.

“You think we should look for the kittens?”

“I want to,” Margie said, “but if we go toward the back and anything comes down, we might as well hope it buries us for good.”

Blake sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess this is as much as we can do right now.” “Wait—listen.”

Blake tensed. Shadows filled the barn, and not being able to see beyond the small cone of light made everything extra spooky. “What?”

A sound like an animal being eaten alive came from somewhere close by. Blake jumped and dropped the feed pail. “What is that?”

Margie laughed. “Rooster.”

“Where?”

“He’s probably hiding nearby.”

“How do we catch him?”

Margie handed Blake the feed pail and looped her arm through his. “We don’t. Come on.”

They picked their way quickly but cautiously back to the porch, and Margie propped the door open with a chair and set the flashlight on top. “Can you find another dish for the food and feed those guys?”

Blake found one on the drain board, filled it from the pail, and placed it in the box with the chicks.

They chirped and pecked at it, and he knew they’d made the right decision. “They’re good.”

“Okay.” Margie turned out the rest of the lights in the kitchen and plopped down on the floor with her back against one of the cabinets.