Emma

I walked beside Jezebel down the long hallway and toward the screen door to the porch. Before we made it to the door, she led me into a sitting room. In a basket were blankets. Jezebel lifted one and handed it my direction.

“It has to be eighty-five degrees,” I said as I took the wool blanket.

“It’s not for the temperature. Sitting outside, there will be mosquitoes. Wrap up and they won’t get you.”

The ...