now.”
“Because you feel like you’ve been cheating on Anne?”
He clutched the windowsill with both hands and bent his head again.
“Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Go away.”
“Have you eaten anything? I could make you an omelet.”
He turned toward me. “Food isn’t going to fix this, Sophie.”
And just like that, I turned into my mother. “Of course not, but you have to keep up your strength.”
I retreated downstairs to his kitchen and put on the kettle for tea. Coffee might be too strong for him right now. I’d left my tea in the car, and I needed another little morning jolt.
Wolf must have been to the grocery store not too long ago. In his refrigerator, I found leftover asparagus that was already cooked, sliced deli ham, and Cablanca, a nice salty goat Gouda. While I heated the pan for the eggs, I could hear Francie arguing with the obnoxious cop outside. I opened the kitchen door and hissed, “Francie!”
She and Olive piled into the kitchen.
I shut the door in the cop’s face and locked it. “Tea?”
“Where’s Wolf?” asked Francie.
“Upstairs. It’s probably not a good time to talk to him. He’s… shaken.”
I whisked the eggs and poured them into the hot pan. Rustling through a drawer, I found a wood-handled steak knife that sliced through the asparagus and ham like they were butter.
Francie and Olive sniffed hungrily.
“No one has had breakfast?” I asked. “Get the other eggs out. I’ll make more omelets as soon as I’m done with Wolf’s.
“So what did he say?” asked Francie.
“Go away.”
“That’s sort of rude.”
“He’s devastated!”
Francie frowned. “That boy needs to buck up.”
Boy? Wolf passed boy a long time ago. It was all relative, I guessed. I loosened the edges of the omelet and shifted the pan to allow excess egg to run underneath and cook. Using a vegetable peeler, I sliced the Gouda into thin, wide strips and laid them on top of the cooked eggs with bits of asparagus and ham. Loosening the edges again, I rolled the eggs gently into an omelet and slid it onto a plate.
“Stay down here. I don’t want to upset him any more than he already is.” Taking a deep breath, I loaded a mug of tea, a napkin, a fork, and the omelet onto a tray and marched it up the stairs.
He sat on the bench again, holding a small pillow in his hands.
“Where would you like to eat?”
“Sophie, I don’t know of a nice way to say this, and I don’t think I have it in me to be kind to anyone right now. Please, leave me alone. I need to deal with this by myself.”
I placed the tray on the bed, took the pillow, tossed it on a chair, and handed him the plate and fork. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand your pain. But you have friends, Wolf. We’re not going to abandon you.” Well, not unless they proved him guilty of murder. Then I might have to reconsider. Was it terrible of me to feel that way? “Come on, you know you’re hungry.”
To my surprise, he ate a bite. And then another. I perched on the edge of a cushy barrel chair. The curves and floral fabric contrasted nicely with the stark dark wood furniture. Anne’s touch, I guessed. I picked up the pillow Wolf had held. It was made of yellow gingham with a white fringe. On it, someone, presumably Anne, had embroidered a ladybug sitting on a daisy. It was darling. Summery and sweet—the sort of personal imprint that made a home cozy. Examining those careful stitches brought Anne alive to me.
Lest I say something that would cause Wolf to lose his appetite, I kept quiet company with him while he ate. Francie and Olive could wait a bit. I was totally parched and couldn’t wait for my own cup of tea. I should have brought one up with me.
Wolf finished the omelet. “Thanks, Soph.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shot me a look hotter than the pan I’d cooked the eggs in. I collected everything except the mug of tea, which he held, and retreated in silence, glad that
“Because you feel like you’ve been cheating on Anne?”
He clutched the windowsill with both hands and bent his head again.
“Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Go away.”
“Have you eaten anything? I could make you an omelet.”
He turned toward me. “Food isn’t going to fix this, Sophie.”
And just like that, I turned into my mother. “Of course not, but you have to keep up your strength.”
I retreated downstairs to his kitchen and put on the kettle for tea. Coffee might be too strong for him right now. I’d left my tea in the car, and I needed another little morning jolt.
Wolf must have been to the grocery store not too long ago. In his refrigerator, I found leftover asparagus that was already cooked, sliced deli ham, and Cablanca, a nice salty goat Gouda. While I heated the pan for the eggs, I could hear Francie arguing with the obnoxious cop outside. I opened the kitchen door and hissed, “Francie!”
She and Olive piled into the kitchen.
I shut the door in the cop’s face and locked it. “Tea?”
“Where’s Wolf?” asked Francie.
“Upstairs. It’s probably not a good time to talk to him. He’s… shaken.”
I whisked the eggs and poured them into the hot pan. Rustling through a drawer, I found a wood-handled steak knife that sliced through the asparagus and ham like they were butter.
Francie and Olive sniffed hungrily.
“No one has had breakfast?” I asked. “Get the other eggs out. I’ll make more omelets as soon as I’m done with Wolf’s.
“So what did he say?” asked Francie.
“Go away.”
“That’s sort of rude.”
“He’s devastated!”
Francie frowned. “That boy needs to buck up.”
Boy? Wolf passed boy a long time ago. It was all relative, I guessed. I loosened the edges of the omelet and shifted the pan to allow excess egg to run underneath and cook. Using a vegetable peeler, I sliced the Gouda into thin, wide strips and laid them on top of the cooked eggs with bits of asparagus and ham. Loosening the edges again, I rolled the eggs gently into an omelet and slid it onto a plate.
“Stay down here. I don’t want to upset him any more than he already is.” Taking a deep breath, I loaded a mug of tea, a napkin, a fork, and the omelet onto a tray and marched it up the stairs.
He sat on the bench again, holding a small pillow in his hands.
“Where would you like to eat?”
“Sophie, I don’t know of a nice way to say this, and I don’t think I have it in me to be kind to anyone right now. Please, leave me alone. I need to deal with this by myself.”
I placed the tray on the bed, took the pillow, tossed it on a chair, and handed him the plate and fork. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand your pain. But you have friends, Wolf. We’re not going to abandon you.” Well, not unless they proved him guilty of murder. Then I might have to reconsider. Was it terrible of me to feel that way? “Come on, you know you’re hungry.”
To my surprise, he ate a bite. And then another. I perched on the edge of a cushy barrel chair. The curves and floral fabric contrasted nicely with the stark dark wood furniture. Anne’s touch, I guessed. I picked up the pillow Wolf had held. It was made of yellow gingham with a white fringe. On it, someone, presumably Anne, had embroidered a ladybug sitting on a daisy. It was darling. Summery and sweet—the sort of personal imprint that made a home cozy. Examining those careful stitches brought Anne alive to me.
Lest I say something that would cause Wolf to lose his appetite, I kept quiet company with him while he ate. Francie and Olive could wait a bit. I was totally parched and couldn’t wait for my own cup of tea. I should have brought one up with me.
Wolf finished the omelet. “Thanks, Soph.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shot me a look hotter than the pan I’d cooked the eggs in. I collected everything except the mug of tea, which he held, and retreated in silence, glad that
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