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sisters. At least they’d been out of her hair that evening. After the singing was over, she’d watched the young people through the window, and a few of them stood in the driveway smoking cigarettes. Still, she was unsure whether the Brennemans would approve of her doing so. Not that she cared what they thought or felt. It was just in her own best interest to keep her smokes a secret for now.
    “I need for us to talk. Remember, I mentioned needing that on Sunday and again yesterday?”
    She remembered. “Can it wait? My head is pounding again.” Besides that, whatever Lovina needed, Skylar didn’t have it to give.
    Lovina studied her, looking a little anxious. “Ya, okay. We’re making pancakes for breakfast.” She gestured toward the stairs, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Skylar felt. “But then…do you even like them?”
    Probably not. Skylar liked the way her mom fixed them—with a specific mix, hot cakes slathered in store-bought butter, fresh fruit, and whipped cream. But this home probably didn’t have any of those things. She’d been here for days and hadn’t yet seen a stick of store-bought butter or a carton of milk. Forget something like pancake mix. They produced their own food or did without. Every towel was threadbare, and the sheets had been patched. If her dad, the one she’d grown up knowing, wanted to teach her a lesson about using drugs, this was the way to do it. Amish living at its best was absolutely miserable.
    “Pancakes will be fine. Thanks. Is there water this morning?”
    Skylar had a lot to adjust to—new family, Amish rules by the silo-full, no modern conveniences, and the frustration of living in a poor home. Every time she turned around, another water pipe had broken, which meant someone had to haul water into the house so she could brush her teeth. And if she wanted to bathe, the water had to be heated on the stove. Forget having a shower. Who lived like this—no electric lights, washing clothes by hand even when the water worked, and having a rule for every little thing? But they hadn’t put any of the gazillion Amish rules on her, not yet anyway.
    Lovina looked sympathetic. “Your Daed…”
    “
Dat?
What’s a dat?”
    “It’s Amish for
dad.
”
    “Oh.” She’d heard the term numerous times, mostly from her stranger siblings.
    “Anyway,”—Lovina closed her eyes and swallowed hard—“Isaac is milking right now, but he will fix the issue after breakfast. I was hoping you would get dressed and join us at the table this morning.”
    Skylar wasn’t a morning person, especially not crack-of-dawn morning, but today was her third morning here, and apparently her family thought it was time she joined them. “I’ll be down shortly.”
    “Denki.”
Lovina smiled and closed the door.
    Skylar didn’t understand much Pennsylvania Dutch, but she knew the word for “thank you.” And
Bobbeli,
because there was no shortage of babies around here. In her other life Skylar was an only child. Now she had nine siblings and fourteen nieces and nephews—too many of whom shared this home. Mind boggling, really.
    She put on a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Thankfully no one had asked her to dress the way they did. What would she do if her birth parents wanted that? She removed the cigarettes and her lighter from the suitcase, slid them into her jeans pocket, and pulled the hem of her shirt over the bulge.
    The hardest part of this ordeal thus far was the lack of drugs. The first two nights were the worst. Her feet started burning, and her legs wouldn’t stop moving, and all she could think about was a couple of tablets of Xanax, Ativan, or Valium. Anything to stop the incessant restless legs.
    She had to get something somehow. But sneaking out of a shared room was problematic. There was never any white noise to cover the sounds of her movements—no music, no iPhone app of ocean waves, no television left on by accident. Nothing.
    Everyone—all umpteen hundred