They entered the room together, hand in hand.
Evelyn patted the side of the bed, and Cujo walked cautiously over.
“I’m sorry, Drea… I had no idea…”
“No, no, no.I’m sorry,” Drea said, sitting next to her.“I should have been out front with you.It was my fault.”Drea’s eyes filled with tears.
Evelyn battled the sedative, but Cujo could tell from her slurry speech and drooping eyes, she wouldn’t win.
“I saw you,” Evelyn said quietly, just when they thought she had fallen asleep.“That night.On the stairs.I couldn’t look at you.I wouldn’t have been able… to go.I would have—”
Cujo took her hand.“Not tonight, Mom.We’ll talk about it, but not tonight.Please just sleep.There’ll be time in the morning.”
“Don’t let Don know,” she murmured, half asleep.
“Don’t let Don know what?”he asked, a sense of dread sweeping around him.
“That I remembered…”
***
Drea helped Cujo unload the truck.He’d said nothing since they’d left Evelyn’s room.Every now and then, he’d shake his head and sigh.She wanted to ask what was on his mind, but knew better.Her man needed time and space.
Cujo left the bags in the hallway, and flopped down on the sofa.
Drea wandered over to the kitchen and poked around in the fridge.There were some vegetables that were salvageable.The freezer revealed an anally retentive display of labeled containers and bags of meat.Easy enough to throw something together.
She opened a cupboard in search of a salad bowl, only to find it filled with a lifetime supply of protein powders.Another was filled with containers of things she’d never heard of: baobab powder, agave syrup, hemp seeds.The guy was a nutrition nut.
The third contained cups and bowls.She must be getting closer.
“Can I help you find something, Shortcake?”Cujo was on the other side of the island, both hands pressed on the granite counter, his arms flexed straight.“Or you just going to bang around in there all night?”The smile he gave was forced, but at least he was talking.
“I was going to make dinner.Salad and meat.”
“Meat?”he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, you know.Animal by-product.Likely wentcluck,moo,baa, orquackwhen alive.”
Cujo laughed and shook his head.He walked around the island to the sink and began washing his hands.“What are your thoughts onpho?”
“Pho?”
He rummaged in the freezer and retrieved two containers of stock and a Ziploc bag of cooked chicken.“Vietnamese Pho.Meat, as you put it, broth, and noodles.I normally use fresh beef in this, but seeing we’ve been away and don’t have any in the fridge, I’ll use a cooked chicken breast.”
There was no way he was making dinner for her, and besides, this seemed like assembly rather than real cooking.She opened the fridge and pulled out one of the beers she’d seen earlier.“Take this, and go sit on one of the stools.You can tell me what to do.”
He squinted his eyes at her but did as she suggested.
“There’s a large pot in the cupboard to your right,” he said, pointing toward the window.“It’s sacrilegious to use a cooked piece of meat, but it’s the best we can do on the fly.”
Cujo instructed her.She prepped the noodles, grated some fresh ginger, and chopped cilantro and scallions.
Less than thirty minutes later, they were sitting side by side at the counter, slurping delicious pho, and drinking a chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
“Sometimes, it just good to be home, isn’t it?”he said between mouthfuls.
Drea embraced the little shiver she felt at the word “home.”Rosa’s had only ever felt like a house rather than a home.The truth is, she hated staying there.Here, with Cujo, she appreciated what it really felt like to be somewhere warm and welcoming.
