let’s go in the kitchen and scrounge up some supper.”
As if he understood, the cat traipsed after the couple toward the kitchen, stopping once briefly to glance up at the staircase as they walked past. He darted across in front of Savannah and then slowed his stride so he was walking next to her. When they entered the kitchen, he meandered toward his kibbles and water bowls.
“Oh, that’s my cell.” Savannah walked over to where it was charging on the buffet just inside the dining room. She looked at the screen. “It’s Iris. I really should take it.”
“Sure, honey,” Michael said. “I’ll start the hamburger frying.”
“Oh, I did that part,” she said quickly. “Just cut up the salad stuff,” she instructed as she started to leave the room. “And grate some cheese… hello, Iris. What’s up?”
Sniiiiiiiiffffff. “Oh Savannah…”
Savannah was sure her heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong, Iris? Has something happened?”
“It’s Damon. He just left in a fit of anger making all kinds of threats. I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Savannah asked cautiously.
She sighed. “Not really.”
“Iris, did he hit you again?”
“No, he didn’t hit me,” she insisted rather impatiently.
In the background, Savannah heard one of the boys saying loudly, “Did, too, Mom. You know he did!”
“Who’s that, Iris—Chris? He sounds upset.”
Sniffffff. “Everyone here’s upset. Chris, go finish your homework, son.”
“Iris, do you need company?” Savannah asked.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Iris, are you there?”
“Yes.” Sniff. Sniff. “You know, I think I’ll just go to bed. I’ll be all right.”
“Lock your doors. Bring the dog in. Damon’s probably going to get all drugged up and you don’t need that. You have that camper behind your place—if he comes home, let him sleep there tonight. And if he gives you any more trouble, Iris, you MUST call the sheriff. He’s going to hurt you!”
“But he’s my son…” she wailed.
“Not when he’s all crazed on drugs. Then he’s a monster and you and the boys shouldn’t have to be subjected to that.”
Iris was silent again.
“Iris?”
“Yes? I feel so crummy. I can’t even tell you.”
“Iris, before you go to bed tonight, do one of your rituals—kill the hold that boy has over you. You know, like we did with the memory of that creep Joe Forster…burn something that represents his…troubled side and go bury it. Tonight. Before you go to bed. You’ll feel much better. I promise. And lock your doors and windows. Goodbye Iris. Take care.”
“Salad’s all ready!” Michael exclaimed when she walked back into the kitchen. “What kind of dressing do you want?”
“Huh?” She looked over at him and asked, “You didn’t put that taco seasoning in, did you?”
“Nope. I know you prefer it without.”
“Then I’ll have the sweet and spicy French,” she said rather absent-mindedly.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Not really—there’s something way wrong with Iris. More than she’s telling me.” She stood staring at her cell phone for a few seconds. Then, in an attempt to snap out of her funk, she shook her head and smiled at her man saying, “But there’s nothing wrong with us. I’m starved. Let’s eat.”
She walked over and gave Rags a head-rub before sitting down at the table. The cat looked up and softly mewed.
“Thanks for coming over here tonight, Michael. I think it’s helping Rags for us to be here doing routine things.”
He smiled. “Anything for my lovely fiancée and my future stepcat.”
“Stepcat?” She laughed. “Now that’s funny. Does that mean Lexie and Walter will be my steppets?”
“Absolutely,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “They’re eager to have you and their stepcat brother come live with us forever. And so am I. How soon can we get married?”
She unfolded
As if he understood, the cat traipsed after the couple toward the kitchen, stopping once briefly to glance up at the staircase as they walked past. He darted across in front of Savannah and then slowed his stride so he was walking next to her. When they entered the kitchen, he meandered toward his kibbles and water bowls.
“Oh, that’s my cell.” Savannah walked over to where it was charging on the buffet just inside the dining room. She looked at the screen. “It’s Iris. I really should take it.”
“Sure, honey,” Michael said. “I’ll start the hamburger frying.”
“Oh, I did that part,” she said quickly. “Just cut up the salad stuff,” she instructed as she started to leave the room. “And grate some cheese… hello, Iris. What’s up?”
Sniiiiiiiiffffff. “Oh Savannah…”
Savannah was sure her heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong, Iris? Has something happened?”
“It’s Damon. He just left in a fit of anger making all kinds of threats. I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Savannah asked cautiously.
She sighed. “Not really.”
“Iris, did he hit you again?”
“No, he didn’t hit me,” she insisted rather impatiently.
In the background, Savannah heard one of the boys saying loudly, “Did, too, Mom. You know he did!”
“Who’s that, Iris—Chris? He sounds upset.”
Sniffffff. “Everyone here’s upset. Chris, go finish your homework, son.”
“Iris, do you need company?” Savannah asked.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Iris, are you there?”
“Yes.” Sniff. Sniff. “You know, I think I’ll just go to bed. I’ll be all right.”
“Lock your doors. Bring the dog in. Damon’s probably going to get all drugged up and you don’t need that. You have that camper behind your place—if he comes home, let him sleep there tonight. And if he gives you any more trouble, Iris, you MUST call the sheriff. He’s going to hurt you!”
“But he’s my son…” she wailed.
“Not when he’s all crazed on drugs. Then he’s a monster and you and the boys shouldn’t have to be subjected to that.”
Iris was silent again.
“Iris?”
“Yes? I feel so crummy. I can’t even tell you.”
“Iris, before you go to bed tonight, do one of your rituals—kill the hold that boy has over you. You know, like we did with the memory of that creep Joe Forster…burn something that represents his…troubled side and go bury it. Tonight. Before you go to bed. You’ll feel much better. I promise. And lock your doors and windows. Goodbye Iris. Take care.”
“Salad’s all ready!” Michael exclaimed when she walked back into the kitchen. “What kind of dressing do you want?”
“Huh?” She looked over at him and asked, “You didn’t put that taco seasoning in, did you?”
“Nope. I know you prefer it without.”
“Then I’ll have the sweet and spicy French,” she said rather absent-mindedly.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Not really—there’s something way wrong with Iris. More than she’s telling me.” She stood staring at her cell phone for a few seconds. Then, in an attempt to snap out of her funk, she shook her head and smiled at her man saying, “But there’s nothing wrong with us. I’m starved. Let’s eat.”
She walked over and gave Rags a head-rub before sitting down at the table. The cat looked up and softly mewed.
“Thanks for coming over here tonight, Michael. I think it’s helping Rags for us to be here doing routine things.”
He smiled. “Anything for my lovely fiancée and my future stepcat.”
“Stepcat?” She laughed. “Now that’s funny. Does that mean Lexie and Walter will be my steppets?”
“Absolutely,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “They’re eager to have you and their stepcat brother come live with us forever. And so am I. How soon can we get married?”
She unfolded
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