CHAPTER 7
After the maggot encounter, sitting down to fold laundry seemed less onerous than usual, even with Timmy helping.
And by helping, I mean that I folded, and he mangled. But his grin was so wide, and he kept telling me how much he loved me, that I wasn’t exactly going to correct him.
We’d just finished a basket, when Stuart called. “I’m still with Bernie,” he said. “He found a company that should be able to handle the tile work for a decent price. They’re usually booked, and so I’d hate to miss out. And then I really need to run by the office. I’ve got a pile of paperwork to look over. Do you mind if I’m late?”
“Of course not,” I said, even though I did mind. At least a little. It felt like we’d been going on fast-forward since we got back into town, and I’d been hoping for a little bit of time to sit and chill with my husband. But I understood that he had things to get back to, not the least of which was repairing the investment house that an extremely powerful—and extremely pissed off— demon had pretty much destroyed.
For that matter, I thought, as I glanced out the window at the backyard where a demon carcass still hid beneath the gardening bench, maybe it was best that he wasn’t home yet.
I frowned, wondering why I had yet to hear from Eric. It was getting dark, and he was supposed to have swooped in and taken care of the bodies by now. Surely he would have texted me that it was done right? I mean, yes, I could have gone into the backyard and checked for the body, but if it wasn’t there, I’d really like affirmation that it was Eric who moved it. And, honestly, how much trouble was it to send a quick text?
“Kate? Did I lose you?”
I straightened. “Sorry, I’m here. I was preoccupied by Timmy.” I glanced at my little boy who was being remarkably well behaved, grateful that the kiddo wasn’t yet old enough to realize he was Mommy’s little scapegoat. “Do you want me to swing by and bring you some dinner?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I cringed again, because I really didn’t want to leave the house. Instead, I wanted to waylay Eric when he came for the bodies and ask his opinion on the various demonic goings-on.
“Love the idea,” Stuart began, making me tense with frustration, “but I’m good.”
I sagged with relief.
“We’re going to meet with these guys, then grab dinner out so we can go over some of the numbers and see where we are. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Of course. That’s absolutely fine.”
Dead air lingered between us. “Kate … is there something going on?” His voice dropped to a whisper as he added, “You know. Something aboutdemons?”
“No, no. Nothing like that at all.” Honestly, the man knew me too well. And while Ishouldhave told him, I also knew he had work to do. Plus I didn’t want to get into it right now. And, yeah,the truth is I was still a little nervous about his reaction. We’d repaired things in Rome, but I didn’t yet know if the repairs were concrete or kiddie paste. Because it was demons in San Diablo that drove him away in the first place.
Maybe it was unfair, but I felt better holding some stuff back. At least until I understood more. And until I could look at his face as I talked to him.
“Kate?”
“It’s all good here,” I told him, which at that exact moment in time was totally true. “It’s only that I was hoping that you and I could have an early night. Maybe chill on the couch. Hang out. But it’s fine. Really. I’ll take a rain check. Truly.”
I sincerely hoped that when I end up at those Pearly Gates the number of demons I’ve taken out over the years outweighs the number of fibs I’ve told my husband.
“Definitely a rain check,” he said, his voice shifting from business mode into night-with-my-wife mode. “A night in … a glass of wine … imagine the possibilities….”
“Believe me,” I assured him. “I am.”
With his perfectly honed sense of timing, Timmy started banging on his plastic truck with a wooden stick, which, I realized was the end of my spatula, now missing the flat, rubber piece that gave it those spatula-like qualities.
I ended the call with Stuart, then plucked the stick from Timmy’s hand. “It’s you and me tonight, kiddo. You hungry?” I started toward the kitchen, tossing the no-longer-a-spatula onto the counter. I’d look for the plastic piece later, but I had a feeling it was buried deep in a toy chest or shoved into the couch cushions. “Want to do dinner on the sofa with a movie?”
“Can we watch puppies?”
The beginnings of a headache trickled up the back of my spine. Not that I have anything against101 Dalmatians, butI’m pretty sure I’ve seen it more times than there are actually Dalmatians in the movie.
“Of course we can, sweetie pie. What do you think about fish sticks and apple slices while we watch?”
His little head bobbed eagerly, and I immediately kicked myself, because I hadn’t actually checked to make sure there were any fish sticks in the house.
I said a quick prayer to Saint Monica, the patron saint of mothers, then zipped over to the freezer. I pulled it open, peered inside, and sagged with relief. “Hey, where’s my little chef?”
“Here, Mommy!” He scurried into the kitchen easily, as the baby gate that separates the living area from the kitchen wasn’t closed. It’s usually not these days, though we haven’t entirely disassembled the thing since he’s mobile enough now that I want the kitchen shut tight during the night.
