Linda Maye Adams's Blog, page 61
October 8, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 11
11
The hardwood planks creaked as Nikki climbed the stairs. It hurt her so much seeing them so dirty. She’d grown up in a house without any stairs, so finding them in a house was awesome and these had been a golden brown that shone.
Randy followed behind her. She was glad that he hadn’t brought up the question about selling the house, though she was sure he wanted to ask.
“What do you remember about being here?” Randy asked.
They emerged at the top of the stairs into a hallway that ran the length of the house. Rooms spouted off the hallway like tree branches. Bedrooms were on the left, and a full bathroom on the right. The hallway ended at a screened off porch that would be closed during winter. She stayed there on the summer visits, in the cooling night air.
“Thinking that this house should have a ghost,” Nikki answered. “I’d look at the outside, at the tower, and fancy that I could see a ghost in the window, waiting. My aunts never let me in that room. I didn’t know why.”
“Do you want to have a look?”
Nikki gave him a big grin. “Yes!”
To the front of the house, the hallway led through a pair of doors with grimy stained glass showing a peacocks, feathers spread in an elegant fan as they bowed. The doors led to a landing with another stairway, and two additional rooms. Her aunts hadn’t stayed in either of these rooms, which mystified Nikki. Both rooms would have overlooked the street and the beautiful view.
The tower room was on the right, the door closed, forbidding. She tried the door knob–actually, she just touched it. The door opened like it had been waiting for her.
The room smelled of being closed up for too long…and something else. She hesitated in the doorway, not sure what she was feeling. It was faint, like electricity in the air as a thunderstorm approached. Maybe one was coming?
This had been a woman’s bedroom once. Except for the dust, it looked like the original owner could walk right in here and go to bed. A large four poster bed was against the far wall, giving a good view of the two windows looking out over the street. The fireplace had an elegant, hand-carved mantle with more wood then she had ever seen. She had to restrain herself from opening the glass doors to a bookcase and inspecting the volumes, afraid they might be fragile. But she did open the dresser drawers.
Emptied, long ago.
She opened a door at the end of the room, thinking it went to a closet and expecting it to be large like the room. It was a pantry. Shelves lined the upper half of one wall, cupboards below.
“A pantry in the bedroom?” She glanced back at Randy, not expecting an answer.
He chuckled. “The woman of the house would have kept on the valuables. Spices, coffee, sugar.”
“But where are the closets?” Nikki wondered what she would have done if she had no place to hang up her dressed and blouses.
“They didn’t build houses with them. The government could have counted the closets as extra rooms and taxed the owners for it.”
“Really? A closet’s not a room you could do anything but store clothes.”
Randy snorted. “You should see where—some of the classrooms of the era. Our modern closets are bigger.”
The pantry had a door that opened out into the next room. A pale yellow glow came from under the door. Sunlight?
Her fingers closed around the doorknob. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so, like it had been in the rising sunlight. A vibration tingled her palm.
Hinges creaked as she opened the door. It caught on a rug, dragging, then popped open. Another bedroom. Near the great fireplace was the strangest thing Nikki had ever seen. An irregular oval shape hovered in the air, a patchwork quilt of yellows, oranges, red, and black.
A gasp came from behind her. Randy had come in through the pantry, staring at the oval, his mouth gaping open.
“Don’t touch it,” Randy said, his voice thinning out. He was frightened.
Nikki supposed she should be frightened too. Yet, she was drawn to the portal. She wasn’t sure if it was just natural curiosity or if the portal was calling to her. She moved closer, though cautiously, circling around it. Two feet away, she could feel both warmth and icy cold streaming from, it like two winds mingling. Smelled like water and grass.
Behind the oval, the room was ice cold. Her breath came out in wispy fog. The oval did not look the same from this side. There was more of the red, like paint being swirled around. It was mesmerizing to look at—
Suddenly she fell backwards, landing on Randy.
“You almost walked right into it!” he blurted.
She sat up, shivering and stared at the oval. The chill she felt like had nothing to do with the air in the room.
Filed under: Thoughts
October 6, 2017
Adventures around the Web September 30-October 6, 2017
2017 NaNoWriMo Writing Tools Bundle
As always, there’s a writing bundle in time for Nano. I always like these bundles because the quality is pretty high.
I wouldn’t mind having either my military writer’s guide or my pantser’s guide show up in one of these…
Women in the Military Service for America Memorial Foundation
Women were recruited into the WACs because of a shortage of men. They were initially on civilian status, but were later given military status. The article gives some descriptions of the training, including how the clothes (didn’t) fit, and what it was like to be deployed. Some things do not change, no matter the time in history!
June Rivers on Little Things
The first movie I remember seeing is Dick Van Dyke’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (which I named a kitten after). And, of course, the walnut episode of the Dick Van Dyke Show (if you haven’t seen that one, it has aliens from outer space). This link is worth it for the video. I’d like to be like that at 90!
Arlington County, Virginia
George Washington’s Forest
I’ve walked around all these places. Had no idea about the mill–and I’ve walked under that bridge (though it looks better on the video. I always thought it looks like a place where you would get mugged). Have to check out the last stop and see the tree.
Filed under: Entertainment, History, Military, Writing Tagged: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Dick Van Dyke, Dick Van Dyke Show, George Washington, WACs, World War II
October 4, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 10
10
Randy waited on the sidewalk outside the Chandler house for Nikki. Two yards over, one of the neighbors steered a noisy riding mower over the lawn, perfuming the air with summer grass. Wouldn’t be more than a month before the cold would set in, and Randy would lose all the delicious summer scents. Fall had its own flavors, but he didn’t like them as much.
Puff ball tail quivering, Molly snuffled around in the grass. Randy had tied off the leash on the mail box post. Molly was working her way into wrapping the entire leash around the pole.
A car pulled up at the curb and Nikki got out. She slammed the door a little harder than necessary. She smiled and her wave was friendly, but her mouth was tight with tension.
Molly scampered over, recognizing a friend, tail wagging. She barked twice.
“She’s barking because you’re wearing a cat shirt,” Randy said.
Nikki looked down at the shirt. The cat’s eyes were that clear, bright blue of summer. “I like both cats and dogs.”
Molly sneezed.
“She just said, ‘no accounting for taste,'” Randy said.
Nikki laughed, which lightened her face. She knelt, giving Molly a vigorous rub.
“Is everything all right?” Randy asked. He wasn’t sure how much to ask, since everyone else seemed to want to meddle and he just wanted to be a friend.
She sighed and he thought she might have told him then and there, but she changed her mind. “I’m fine. Have you been inside?”
Randy had to think about that. He’d been all around it while it was being built, but the rift with the Chandlers happened soon after the completion of the house.
“No. Your aunts never invited me in,” he said.
Though they had liked Molly, they’d never let Randy go past the edge of the grass. He wished he knew what had come between the Chandlers and the Southworths. His generation had speculated that it was over something silly, and there were all kinds of stories, some quite fanciful…a Chandler woman had an affair with a Southworth woman…ownership rights over a pillowcase…how a Southworth played a piano…the cost of a horse.
He mentally shook his head. The problem with the family being so long-lived that time changed the memories, but could leave the anger intact.
Nikki gave him another smile, this time losing the tension. “Then I’ll invite you in. Will Molly be okay out here? Someone won’t steal her, will they?”
Randy snorted. “We barely have a crime rate. Mostly drunk and stupid…sometimes both.”
He let her go into the house first. Though he wouldn’t say it aloud, he was afraid. Would the house let him in? There’d been stories about that, too, and he wasn’t sure if it was a product of the feud or fact.
He stopped in the doorway, waiting for his eyes adjust to the dimness inside. The stone walls woke to his presence, tentative, curious. Underneath the dust and the mildew, he caught another smell—old cooking oil. It awoke a memory of him when he was a boy, standing next to the wood-burning stove while his mother cooked a winter stew, warmth wrapping around him.
Randy stepped inside the entrance way. The warmth became a buzz of energy. Coming from upstairs. From the portal room.
Filed under: Writing in Public
October 3, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 9
9
The next morning, Nikki stopped at the hotel’s dining room to fill her belly before her day at the house. She hadn’t brought any old clothes with her for dusty rooms, so she’d put on jeans and a print t-shirt with a big-eyed cat, hoping for the best. She’d added her ankle boots, since those would protect her feet and were comfy, besides.
The dining room had buffet set out for a continental breakfast. Serviceable but basic. She inspected the hot food side, lifting lids and finding French toast sticks, sausage, and oatmeal. The sausage smelled wonderful but appeared overcooked, so opted for the oatmeal. She added a big spoonful of peanut butter to the oatmeal, and then a little spoonful of raspberry jam.
Needed flavor, she told herself, but if she’d had chocolate ice cream, she would have added it to the oatmeal, too.
She stopped at the pastry selection and added a sticky roll to her plate. When she turned to find a place to sit down, Brian was standing in front of her.
“Can we talk?” he said. He dressed in her favorite shirt, a form-fitting purple button front. He’d also slathered on the cologne, which now reminded her of the fakey vanilla scent from yesterday.
“What’s there to talk about?” Nikki said. “I told you I wanted to come up here alone. You ignored that and now you’re trying to convince me that you’re right and I’m wrong.”
She marched over to the nearest booth and set the tray down hard enough that two people nearby glanced up.
Brian circled around her and sat in the seat across. “I just want to help.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.” Nikki sat down and began to eat the oatmeal. She wasn’t about to miss her breakfast.
“C’mon, that’s not fair. You know I have more experience with these things. Why I–”
Nikki fixed him with a stern look. “You haven’t had a relative die yet. How would you have more experience?”
That caught him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, evidently thinking better of it. Probably the smartest thing he had done since he’d gotten here.
“My two aunts died,” Nikki said. “I may not have seen them since I was little, but I do remember them. I want–I need time. Not you pressuring me because you’ve got dollar signs in your eyes.”
The moment that last sentence was out of her mouth, she regretted saying it.
His face purpled darker than the shirt. “That’s not fair—”
Nikki dropped her spoon on the plate with a clatter. “Then explain why the only option you keep giving me is to sell the house. If money isn’t the reason, then what is it?”
“Nikki, please, honey.” Brian’s hand snaked across the table and closed over hers. His hand was calloused and warm. He gave her the smile that had always charmed her. This time, it didn’t make his eyes light up.
“You going to answer my question?” she asked.
“What would you do with it? You don’t have time to care for it.” Brian was practically squirming. He wanted to say something, and she was betting he knew it was something that would make her angry.
The estate lawyer had warned her that the perceived money (he knew how much the house as really worth) would bring out the worst in people. She’d expected it from some members of her family, but not Brian. She’d thought he’d be level headed and practical about it.
Nikki fought down the anger in her voice. “I. Don’t. Know. That’s why I wanted time alone here. Go home.”
She left him at the table, staring after her. He’d probably be here when she got back. She might have to make a decision she didn’t want to make.
Filed under: Thoughts
October 2, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 8
–Sorry thought Scene 7 had gone up yesterday morning. WordPress’ new interface inexplicably requires me to hit publish twice, and I missed the second one.
8
Brian left a note with his room number at the front desk for Nikki. Her anger came back to a boil as she read it: Come see me so we can get this house thing taken care of.
“It’s not a thing,” she said aloud.
“Excuse me?” The front desk clerk, Erin, glanced up from the computer keyboard. “Did you need something?”
Yes, she did.
She wasn’t going to get it.
“Just talking to myself.” Nikki lowered her hand to her side and crumpled the note into a little ball. If Erin heard the paper being crumpled up, she pretended not to notice.
Nikki went to the coffee urn and poured herself a cup. It didn’t smell right with the fakey vanilla scent in the air. She added a tiny plastic cup of hazelnut creamer and watched the coffee change color. As she stirred the coffee with a plastic stick, she found herself looking up at the photo hanging on the wall. The photo had been taken in 1901, according to the placard. It showed a horse drawn wagon passing in front of a store with a painted sign that said Miller’s Grain and Feed.
She turned back to Erin. “Where’s the library?”
With directions and coffee in hand, Nikki headed outside in search of the library. She knew she was avoiding Brian, but it was what she could manage. The coffee was old and bitter in her mouth, so she emptied it into the huckleberries. Hopefully the bushes wouldn’t frizz out from all the caffeine.
The afternoon had gotten chillier. She zipped up the yellow jacket and stuck her hands in the pockets. But the brisk three block walk helped clear her head. She liked how quiet and peaceful the streets were. Cars rumbled past her, but even they seemed respectful of the town. No one was in a hurry to get to their destination.
The library had been fitted into what Five Corners called a mall—a two story building with an art gallery on the left and a convenience store and craft store on the right. The library had a modern glass face that made it appear sanitized.
Inside, the quiet wrapped around her like a quilt. It might be new and shiny, but it smelled like wonderful old books.
A dark-skinned woman in a pink floral print dress sat at the lone desk that served as both reference and checkout. Her hair was plum-colored and she wore big white hoop earrings. Nikki cut across the room to her, her heels catching in the carpet.
“Maye you can help me,” she said. “Randy Southworth—you know him? He said there was a picture of—”
The librarian’s face brightened. “You look just like her!”
That must be a pretty prominent picture for the librarian to remember it. Nikki followed the woman to a small reading area, marked with a curious display. The remains of a tree trunk was parked in the center, rising to about Nikki’s waist. Above it, framed black and white photos hung on the wall.
Nikki thanked the librarian, then started with the placard over the tree trunk. It was what was left of the tree that had been used as a survey marker for the Chandler House. Her house. Please Touch, the sign advised.
She laid her hand on the flat top, trembling. It was cool to the touch.
After a moment, she pulled her hand back. Her fingers tingled.
Shivering though she wasn’t cold, she started at the first picture and moved through each one. Most of the pictures were of the town in the early 1900s, showing buildings as they used to be. There was little left of those places, lost to change.
The third one was of a man and a woman—her great-great grandparents. Elias Chandler, who built the house, and his wife Adelia. She stared at it for a long time, trying to connect herself to the people in the photo.
Elias stood stiffly, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He was clean-shaven and actually quite good looking. Though he looked stern in the photo—that had to be the picture taking process—she thought he had a face that would be full of smiles. He was dressed in a dark vest and suit. Adelia was seated next to her, her volumous skirt spread out. She wore a long-sleeved black blouse with a high neck. And her face…
Nikki leaned in close to study Adelia. Her hair was dark, probably brown, parted in the center, and fastened in a bun. But the resemblance to Nikki herself was striking. It was like she’d put on clothes from the 1800s and had her picture taken.
Now she looked at the background. She wanted to look again, but she thought it had been taken in the house. Those were the stairs, weren’t they? And that was the piano.
The piano blurred. Her head pounded. Music played distantly around her, the notes broken in places.
Then it was gone, as if it had never existed.
Filed under: Writing in Public
October 1, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 7
7.
By the time Randy returned home, he was ready to flop on a couch with a beer and zone out. He hadn’t expected that seeing the newest Chandler would be such a roller coaster ride—though he had to admit to himself, it was a ride he was happy to be on.
His house was a two-bedroom bungalow on the west side of town. He was one of the only Southworths to move off the family estate, out of what he called “the welfare house.” They all lived off the trust fund, and he lived off fifty decades of painting. He’d liked the bungalow. It had a craftsman feel that appealed to his masonry background. It also had a detached room in the backyward that he he used for his art studio.
Molly walked faster, stretching the leash out, in anticipation of ‘home.’
A figure detached itself from the shadows around the big oak in the front yard.
Randy caught his breath. Father. Damn. News traveled fast.
Molly barked at Father, then sat, not wagging her tail. She’d never liked him. If a dog could frown, Molly was doing it now.
Like all the Southworths, Charles Southworth had reached the magic thirty-seven and stopped aging. Unfortunately, he’d also started balding before that happened. No gray, but no hair either. At various times, he’d tried growing a beard, but he had one of those types that came in looking like he didn’t shave and never got better. He was wearing a white dress shirt and pleated pants and a cologne that should have long ago been phased out.
“You ought to mow your damn lawn,” he said.
Randy automatically glanced at it, then caught himself. There wasn’t anything wrong with the lawn. It just wasn’t that perfect green carpet that a lot of houses had. The grass was nubby and unevenly colored.
“You come here to complain about my gardening abilities, Father?” Randy asked.
He knelt and unclipped Molly’s leash, giving her a light push on the rump. The dog glanced at him, then took off around the corner of the house. There was a gentleman dog who lived next door, and they always exchanged sniffs.
Father said, “You were with the Chandler woman earlier.” Flat. Accusatory.
Randy stood, coiling up the leash. “Saw her while I was walking Molly. I didn’t stay long. I heard on the grapevine that her family is talking about selling the house. What do we do if that happens?”
Randy didn’t hide the unease in his voice. He remembered when all seven houses had stood proud, the music a comforting concert. Now it was like a harp with broken strings that was still being played anyway.
“That’s their business.” Sharp. The finger he had used often to punctuate his points came out, stabbing at Randy. “And don’t lie. I know you talked to her again. We stay out of their business. We do not talk to them. We do not help them. Am I clear?”
“Or what?” Randy said, very quietly. Tension thrummed in his jaw.
“You’ll cause a rift in the family if you associate with that woman.”
That woman.
Randy turned the term over on his tongue, not liking the taste of it. Not one bit. He’d lied about the cold to Nikki. He’d stopped going past the house because Father had ordered him to.
Those women.
When did it stop?
Filed under: Thoughts
5 Fun Facts You Don’t Know About Me
I went to my first science fiction convention in 1976 costumed as Lieutenant Uhura and got trapped in a parking garage.
I’m a cat magnet. When I visited my grandparents, I went outside and saw this beautiful white cat. Started petting the cat, who acted like no one ever paid attention to. Suddenly I was surrounded by cats! And my grandfather hated cats.
I’ve ridden in a pace car for a race. It was just after the first Persian Gulf War ended, and a local race track in Washington State was looking for soldiers to ride in the pace car. I went in my class A’s, and one of the guys was grabbed to join me. I sat in the front seat and watched that speedometer. We hit 100!
The first computer I wrote a story on was a Heathkit H-89. Heathkit was known then as having kits of electronics you could put together in your house. My father built the computer. It was all one piece and booted off a 5 1/4 disk. It’s hard to believe now that my tablet has more computing power than that big computer!
Filed under: Personal, technology Tagged: David Hedison, Desert Storm, Heathkit, James Bond, Lieutenant Uhura, Star Trek
September 29, 2017
Adventures Around the Web September 24-29, 2017
We’re just starting to see some of the fall colors. I don’t think the colors will be very good. DC’s weather is strange enough that we either tend to be too dry or too wet for good colors like further up north in the Shenandoah. Our leaves are drying out and going to brown.
Nikola Budanovic on Vintage News
“For sale, baby shoes, never worn”: Tracing the history of the shortest story ever told
An urban legend?
Filed under: Thoughts
September 26, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 6
6
The warm sunshine did little to help brighten Nikki’s mood. The hotel had a patio that overlooked a rustic garden, fragrant with late summer blooms. It should have cheered her because she liked looking at nature, but Brian had left her furious.
She took off the anorak jacket and draped over the railing, resting her arms on it. A lemon-yellow butterfly did a prima donna dance, fluttering along the tops of the milkweed, and never quite satisfied.
Brian’s words clanged in her ears. Was she being indecisive about the house?
Ever since she’d gotten the news, everyone had been telling her to sell the house. They all seemed shocked when she said she hadn’t made up her mind. Even her cousin, who had roamed the house with her when they were children, had seemed mystified because the choice was so “obvious.”
The butterfly landed on a purple milkweed, wings folding and unfolding leisurely. Then it was off again, dancing in search of another flower.
She couldn’t help it: a smile spread across her face. The butterfly had an innocent charm in its mission to find the next flower.
A dog collar rattled behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. It was the man she’d seen out by the house earlier, Randy. He was carrying Molly.
“Does that dog walk?” she asked.
“I carry her around people,” Randy said. “She’s so small that she’d get tripped over. And I’m on a mission.”
“A mission?” Nikki said.
“Mmmm. Erin, the hotel clerk, said you needed a friend. She volunteered Molly.”
Nikki turned around, resting her hips on the railing. “So you just come to the hotel when Erin calls?”
His face reddened, which she found quite charming. “I was visiting Erin. She’s got all the great stories in town. Right now, the story seems to be you.”
“I’m a story, huh?”
Randy shrugged, then set Molly down. “New person in town is always a story.”
“So what are they saying?” she asked.
Molly wandered in Nikki’s direction, dragging the red leash behind her. A cold nose touched Nikki’s foot, officially inspecting her.
“That you look like Adelia Chandler,” Randy blurted. “There’s a picture of her in the library, taken after the house was built.”
Adelia. Nikki had heard of her great-great-grandmother, though she’d had to work to find out. It was amazing how, even with all this information available online, that her own father had no idea who she was. His knowledge of the family stopped with his father, his grandfather having died long before he was born.
“Adelia lived in the house?” she asked.
She liked the way Randy’s smile lit up his face. “Oh, they had grand parties,” he said. “No, not parties. Galas. Balls. It was a very different time. It took so long to get anywhere that people came from all over to see each other and celebrate births and weddings.”
Nikki imagined what that must have been like. Women in elegant dresses and petticoats—fanciful colors of course—sitting on the fainting couch as they talked. A man in a three-piece suit with a gold watch fob stretched across the front seated at the piano, fingers racing across the keys.
“Can you tell me what happened with my two aunts?” she asked. “You must have known them. I visited them when I was little, but it seems like…I don’t know, like they fell out of time.”
Molly barked once, reminding them both that no one was paying attention to her. Nikki scratched behind the dog’s ears. When she stopped, Molly nudged her. More! More!
“I always walked Molly in the area,” he said. “Both of your aunts would come out sometimes and talk to her. They were elderly, very frail. They liked that Molly was so small. Some of the bigger dogs like to jump.”
His voice fell off. Pain showed on his face.
“I got a cold and didn’t go out for a week,” he said. “When I passed by the house, there was a pile of newspapers …”
Nikki turned back to watch the fluttering butterfly. “My family was here all the time when I was growing… Christmas, summer vacation. But after a while, it just stopped. I don’t know why.”
“Have you looked inside?” Randy asked. “Maybe they left something behind. If you’re scared of spiders, we can send Molly in first. She’ll bark at them.”
Nikki laughed. Out in the milkweeds, the butterfly stopped its frenetic fluttering and landed next to another butterfly.
Filed under: Thoughts
September 25, 2017
Writing in Public, Story 6, Scene 5
5
Randy cut across the lobby to the front desk, cradling Molly. The little dog’s tail whipped against his chest with excitement. He wondered what she smelled in here. There had to be a million smells, brought in by the people passing through.
The front desk clerk, Erin, finished typing on her keyboard with a click of long, sparkly nails. She grinned up at him from behind the glow of the computer screen. She had one of those smiles that dragged him on in and made his day better. She was red-haired and had a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks.
“Morning, Randy,” she said. “Who’s that sexy lady with you?”
Molly’s tail wagged even harder. Randy wasn’t sure if Molly actually understand the words, or just thought everyone was talking about her.
“Vain dog,” he told her. She wagged her tail again. Randy lifted her up so Erin could pet her.
As Erin scratched Molly’s chin, she asked, “Have you seen the new Chandler?”
Nikki. Warmth flooded into Randy. He pushed that aside, fast. His family and the Chandlers weren’t supposed to mix. He’d already done more than he should have when he ran into by the house.
“That’s your fault,” he told Molly. Sometimes he thought she was smarter than she acted. She gave him an innocent look, black button eyes blinking.
Erin squeezed his hand. “She’s already got a boyfriend. Brian Donaldson. That’s him.”
Randy glanced over, just in time to see Nikki stalk out of the lobby, trembling with anger. The automatic door didn’t slam, but sigh closed, like a disappointing ending to her departure. Brian watched her leave, not at all concerned, then returned his attention to his Iphone like he and Nikki hadn’t just fought.
“He strutted in here this morning, boasting about selling the house, like he could do what he damn well pleased with it,” Erin said.
Randy wondered how much influence Brian had over Nikki. The Chandler house was the talk of the town because it was the last of the original seven houses. They were all still there, lined up in a row, but time had taken them. New owners had remodeled, sometimes horrifically, destroying the integrity of the houses. One tore a beautiful set of stairs out, and another removed the stained glass from an entraceway and installed a wet bar.
Brian already sounded like one of those who finds out that his grandmother’s Bakelite is worth a few bucks and wants to sell it off.
“You should talk to her,” Erin said. “Let her see Molly. No one can resist that sweet face.”
Molly’s tail thumped against his chest again.
But all he could say was, “You know what my father will say.”
The two families had once been friends, but that had been a long time ago. The only thing holding them together was that house. The last one.
“Maybe it’s about time someone changed that,” Erin said.
Randy rested his back against the counter, ignoring Molly’s pink tongue licking at his collar. If he got involved, it would cause a rift in his family. His father was always so sure he was right and everyone else was wrong. But what was wrong was what Brian was doing to Nikki.
He was already moving for the door when he realized he’d made his decision. He hoped it was the right one.
Filed under: Writing in Public
