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come home occurred to me.
                "Oh my god," I whispered.  "It just keeps getting worse."
                For a second it looked like Sean might hug me.  Might comfort me.  I quickly stepped back, shaking my head.  Chaos ruled my thoughts for a moment.  I didn't know what to do.
                Then I heard my late mother's voice, Time to put on your big girl panties, Jenny.
                Sometimes Momma was tougher than Daddy.  And she was always right.
                "Hold on.  I'll get the boys," I said and rushed to their bedroom.
                Doing something, anything, felt good.  I was never the cringe in the corner and wait to be saved girl.  That had its appeal when Roger was right there to take care of it.  He could kill the spider or snake.  He could go out in the storm and chase off the raccoons in the trash.  Roger never hesitated taking care of business, but he admired my willingness and ability to do it, too.
                I vowed to not disappoint him, my parents, or myself.
                Timmy and Harlan actually knew Sean better than me.  Since Sean lived in his cabin year round, Roger and the boys hunted and fished with him.  I never participated, wanting father and sons to bond like real men.  Whatever that meant.
                "Hi, Gunny," Timmy said.
                "Mr. Andrews," I corrected him.
                "No, everyone calls me Gunny," Sean said.  "It's fine."
                Roger never referred to him as Gunny.  But if he said it was okay, I wasn't going to argue the point.  I didn't particularly like it, but sometimes a mother has to choose her battles.
                I kept the pistol holstered on my belt full time, so only had to pick up the 30-30 and the fanny pack I was carrying the ammo in now.  Once I ensured all doors were locked, and the keys were in my pocket, we headed for the meeting.
                "Wow, you are meticulous about checking everything," Sean said as we walked down the middle of the asphalt road.
                "You mean OCD?"  I laughed.  "It's called being a mother."
                That was my excuse, and I wasn't going to surrender it.
                The developer's model home was a gorgeous four bedroom, three bath, four thousand square foot log mini-mansion near the entrance to the subdivision.  It had deep decks and a spectacular mountain view.  A few of the other so called cabins up there were just as big and beautiful.  We'd chosen the very smallest and cheapest cabin available.
                Bill Connor called the meeting to order when we arrived on the main deck.  Apparently I was the last family to show up.  Kind of embarrassing when it became obvious that they'd sent Sean up to get us.
                There were nineteen "families" in our little community.  There were more homes, but only nineteen made it up there so far.  Of those nineteen, five were single person households: three men and two women.  All divorced, and Sean was the oldest of them at forty.  I was a little surprised by the overall youth of the group.  Only three elderly couples made it to their cabins.  Most of the adults were in their thirties, making me at twenty-eight the youngest.
                The group's youth also meant lots of children.  Mostly young children.  I counted fifteen kids playing inside.  Seeing them filled me with hope, and then dread.
                "Our first order of business is organizing a defense," Bill said.  "Personally, I think the group is small enough for a pure democracy, so we can vote on all community decisions."
                "Not all of us have guns," a single woman said.  "How can I contribute to the defense?  I can't even shoot a gun."
                So Bill called for a show of hands of everyone with