The alarm buzzes through the quiet like a blade. Joe grumbles, being woken from a deep peaceful sleep as he fumbles to silence the shrill. He's rolling back over when Rachel's voice cuts through the haze.
"I heard," Rachel groggily mutters, slowly climbing out of bed. The two didn't get home until early morning, giving them only a few hours of rest.
"I think we need a vacation." Joe announces, grabbing his clothes from the chair. It was one of the few relics from his beloved collectibles that Rachel allowed to stay. "I think we need a vacation," he announces, his voice thick with fatigue.
"How, Joe, with the kids in school and everything?"
"Maybe a staycation then, to catch up on some needed rest."
Limbs heavy with exhaustion, Rachel collapses on the bed. "Sounds like a plan to me. So you want to split the kids, like we did yesterday?"
Joe winces at the memory of him trying to style his daughter's hair. "I think it'd be in Lulu's best interest if you take her and I take the boys."
"Agreed," With a tired smile, she dashes to the kitchen to grab her morning jolt.
Moments later, the apartment erupts into a whirlwind of momentum. Rachel and Joe scramble through their cramped apartment, barking out half-shouted instructions over the ding of cereal clinks and cartoon chatter. Outfits are already laid out, and shoes and backpacks are lined up by the door—a testament to last night's meticulous planning by Rachel's sister, their babysitter, Sam. Despite all the preparation, today, chaos has its own agenda: spilled cereal, missing socks, and the rising tension that hangs so thickly in the air as the clock continues to tick down.
Panic overtakes her when Rachel realizes how late it is; Rachel races towards the back and finds her daughter still buried under the covers. "Lulu, honey, hurry and get dressed, otherwise we're going to be late." She instructs, jerking the covers back.
The defiant child pulls them back over her head. "I don't want to go, Mommy," the child whines.
Rachel brushes her hand across her forehead. "You're not getting sick, are you?"
Lulu hesitates, trying to decide if she should lie. She then recalls what happened to her brother when he fibbed. "I just don't want to go."
"Are you having trouble at school?" Lulu shakes her head. "What is it then?"
"We're giving oral book reports today."
"The one you practiced with Aunt Sammy?" The child nods. "Well, she told me that you nailed it. Nana and Papa did too."
"Really?"
"Really."
She remembers her final run-through, smiles, and says, "I did do good." Grabbing her clothes, she throws them on. "Ready, Mommy."
Rachel runs her fingers through her mass of tangles. "Now for the hair," she sighs.
"I'm ready, Mom," Joe Jr. impatiently says from the bedroom door.
Rachel glances over to see her half-grown son, tall and impatient in the doorway. Where has the time gone?
Rachel then recalls her and Joe's humble beginnings. Their first home was a studio apartment packed full of Joe's clutter. Memorabilia from the good old days, he claimed. To her it looked like a thrift store explosion. With a lot of compromise and persistence, Rachel was able to convince him to store most of his stuff, slowly transforming the space into something modern, which was a whirlwind of a compromise all in itself.
Finding out she was pregnant with Joe Jr., the couple upgraded to a three-bedroom and soon after a four. She pictures their first place in her mind and thinks, "We've come a long way, Joe and I."
"Hurry, Mom, I don't want to be late," Joe Jr. says, snapping her out of the memory.
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
"The science fair is today."
Rachel glances at her daughter's mangled mass of hair. "Ask your father to take you, because Lulu and I are going to be a while."
"Fine," he huffs, storming off.
"My trouble is just beginning," she thinks, recalling what she was like in her teenage years.
"Bubba got up on the wrong side of the bed."
He's been doing a lot of that lately, she muses.
Joe pokes his head in the door. "I'm taking Joe, Jr., to school; be right back."
"What about Noah?"
He's dressed, playing in his crib."
Rachel recalls the first time Joe changed their oldest and laughs.
"What's so funny?"
"Do you remember the first time you tried to change your son?"
Joe recalls Rachel trying to warn him, but by then it was already too late. "That kid has perfect aim." He laughs.
"Come on, Dad." Joe Jr. yells from the door. "
"See you in a few," Joe says, rushing off.
*****
Millie hardly slept at all with the other prisoners either yelling or crying. Of course, the cold cell and hard bunk didn't help the situation a bit. Peace is a luxury I no longer own, she thinks.
Millie suddenly recalls her attorney's visit. "Who would want to do this to me?"
"That I don't know." Grabbing a file from his briefcase, he lays it on the table and says. "What I do know is the evidence they have against you is all circumstantial—well, minus the gun, of course, but I'm going to get that thrown out."
"You can do that?"
Her attorney nods. "It was obtained during an illegal search.'
"They told me that they had a warrant when I asked."
"They were trying to obtain a warrant, but the judge hadn't signed off on it yet."
"But I called them to investigate a burglary."
"Doesn't matter." Seeing her confusion, he continues to explain. "Calling them out gives them reason to investigate the break-in—nothing more."
"If you had something illegal lying on the table when you called them, they could arrest you, but unless there are exigent circumstances, like this illegal whatever it is hanging out of a drawer, legally they'd have no right to open said drawer without a warrant."
"So, legally, they had no right to go through my things?"
"Exactly." He gathers his papers, looks up, and says, "See you in the morning."
Millie shivers as she glances around the cell. , "You can't get me out of here now?"
"I have to write a brief, then present it to the judge."
Screaming brings Millie back to the present day. She clenches her fists, eyes narrowing. I'm going to be out of here before long, and then there will be hell to pay. A slow smile curls across her lip as she pictures her recent enemies in her mind.