One more beautiful, uninterrupted day with Sybil.
I collapsed into bed naked; only pulling the covers up after the heat from the shower and my racing thoughts cooled.
Clutching a pillow to my chest, I wished it were Sybil. I nestled my face into it, craving connection. The gentle reprieve of sleep found me fast.
CHAPTER 22
Sybil
The smell of coffee lured me into consciousness.
Never in my life had I awakened to the smell of coffee.
Cat was a tea person. When I lived with her, tea was the only caffeinated smell that permeated the morning air. I was too paranoid of automatic coffee makers—heaven forbid they starta fire—so instead I opted for the AeroPress.
Poking my head from under the covers, feeling like a bear leaving its cave for the first time post-winter, I couldn’t help but tinker over how to get my hands on some coffee for myself. If there was anything on this planet more motivating than coffee, I was yet to find it. I felt Mr. Beans stretch and stand at my feet, the front set of his nails curling into the comforter and pricking my ankle through the fabric.
Sitting up, I found the TV stilltuned to the Hallmark Channel, though at this time of day, it showed reruns of the Golden Girls. I watched for a moment while I relaxed out the last dregs of sleep.
It was only after several more moments that I realized Bill was missing.
I reached out with my hands, flattening the down comforter to see over it to the floor. As much as I hoped to find him there, he wasn’t there either.
Heaving the comforter back, I felt like I was emerging from under a lifeless body. Heat poured out into the cool room. I planted my bare feet on the floor, the bathroom door ajar and my attention landing on my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes still appeared puffy, but better; however, the mascara I’d failed to wash off before bed had flaked off around my eyes. I gently rubbed to remove as much as I could from my bottom eyelids.
I blew a few crazed strands of hair out of my face. Using my hand to comb down the tangles, I stood and stretched my arms above my head, leaning side to side. My spine cracked a few times.
The tumbler and empty bowl on my bedside table were gone as magically as they had appeared. In its place was a glass of water.
I picked it up, finding it cool to the touch. I took a sip.
Placing it back down on the metallic coaster, I walked around the end of the bed to the window. I could hear murmurs. My curtains were open, and daylight filtered in. The brightness caused me to squint, and it took a minute for my eyesight to adjust as I neared.
The murmurs grew until I found their source. Below the deck and toward the back of the garden space, Nash was sitting in a weather-worn Adirondack chair. He was smack in the center of a small grass patch, facing away from the house and toward a wall of vines speckled with light flowers that covered the back fence of his property.
There was a white mug on the right arm of the chair, and Bill was running circles around him as he held something up in the air. Squinting, I thought it almost resembled a stuffed alligator, but I couldn’t be sure.
With my arms crossed against my chest, I allowed myself to swoon a little. Bill looked so happy, and it surprised me how unbothered he seemed with the bandages on his legs and feet.
While I played with Bill as often as I could, he was a boundless ball of energy. Working dogs like him needed things to do. This was good for him.
Letting my arms fall to my sides and shoving my hands into my sleeves, I figured this was a smart moment to make an attempt at coffee. With half the house busy and accounted for, perhaps I’d be able to get back to my room unnoticed. After a quick stop in the bathroom to relieve myself and brush my teeth, I tiptoed to the door.
I turned the knob and peeked out through a two-inch crack.The door was quiet and sturdy, and its hinges differed from the ones at my townhome. All my hinges were original to the home, and every door sounded like cranking open a prison door on a crusty pirate ship.
The hallway looked empty, so I crept out. I kept my back pressed to the wall, letting my fingertips, still in their sleeves,brush along it. Looking down, I sighed, annoyed by the chipped black polish on my toenails. I’d need to get some new supplies to fix them. I made a mental note to do so.
Nearing the corner that led into the kitchen, I poked my head around.
Bee sat on the island and looked up, noticing me.
I tucked back around the corner, though I regretted it. She saw me, and now it seemed weird pretending she hadn’t.
“Sybil,” she sang. There was playful encouragement in her voice.
I chewed on my sweatshirt sleeve, disappointed it wasn’t already as frayed as the ones I usually wore that were ash by now.
