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“Why is she deathly afraid of storms?” I ask between bites.

Bonnie shakes off my question.

“Bonnie,” I urge. “How can I help her if I don’t know what triggers it?”

Still nothing from Bonnie as she busies herself putting ingredients back into the cabinets.

“Did her dad die during a storm?” I attempt to get some sort of response.

Bonnie freezes with eggs in her hands, facing me on the opposite side of the island. I find conflict in her ...