“One…” I whisper, listening to a couple car doors popping open. Lo’s edged voice resounds across the yard. “Christ, we need to get someone out here to plow the driveway again.” “Two,” I count to my sisters. “I can do it later,” Ryke tells him. I smile wide. “Three.” We run out of our hiding places, or really, I run with frozen feet and they walk. Snowballs lie in their gloved hands (mine gloveless).
