Savannah glanced over her shoulder back at him but didn’t say anything. The expression on her face was unreadable.
“What happened to the pot roast?” I asked after dropping my bag and gear by the door. I followed her into the kitchen.
She shrugged without turning to face me. “Decided to leave it for tomorrow.”
“So, it’s pizza Thursday instead of pizza Friday this week?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“I guess.”
“Aiden will be disappointed tomorrow to find out he doesn’t get pizza two nights in a row.”
“He’ll get over it.” She started doing the few dishes in the sink, with the water turned up way too high and the movement of her hands way too aggressive.
I moved over to the sink and turned the water down. “What’s up? Was it something at work?”
She snorted. “Work. Yeah.”
Okay. “A case turn bad?” Savannah’s patients weren’t typically in dire straits when they came to see her, but every once in a while, there would be some emergency, and she’d have to have them transferred to the local ED.
Maybe that’s what happened and the patient went downhill. That was the only thing I could come up with.
“Just drop it.”
“Can’t drop it. Something’s bothering you.” I never could leave a situation alone if it upset her. It wasn’t in my nature to watch her upset and not do something about it.
“I’m fine,” she said, turning to me. The problem was, though, her eyes didn’t meet mine.
I tucked my finger under her chin and forced her head up so she had nowhere to look but at me.
“Don’t start telling me my nostrils are flaring. That’s bullshit.” She pulled out of my hold. “I’m fine.”
“I can’t talk about your nostrils? Cool.” I stepped back and pulled open one of the cupboards. As I suspected, all the spices and seasonings were in alphabetical order.
I looked from her to the spice cupboard and back to my wife again.
She folded her arms and tucked in her lips, remaining silent.
“How much do you wanna bet that, if I open more cupboards, all of the pots and pans are organized from largest to smallest and color-coordinated?
Savannah rolled her eyes, and I knew I had her.
“You clean when you’re upset.”
I discovered that tidbit about my wife right after my mother died. She’d been almost as upset as I was, but she held her own emotions back to take care of me.
To channel her grief, Savannah organized the hell out of our kitchen cupboards and living room. She even went so far as to do the same at my parents’ ranch when we went over in the days and weeks right after my mother died.
“Whatever,” she said with a suck of her teeth.
“Is it work?” I asked, stepping into her personal space.
Her lips pinched.
Again, I reached for her chin, turning her to me. “I’m not letting this drop until you tell me what it is. Was it something at work?”
“You could say that.”
Frustration rattled my chest. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t going to give it up too easily.
