Part II

I turned back to lock the door and heard the young people whispering. I watched them in the hall tree mirror for a second, then turned back to them, returning their smiles. I asked them if everything was okay, and they said yes in unison. I asked them to come into the kitchen, explaining that the living room is a place I avoid these days, and that the kitchen seems sunnier, even at night. I could tell they wanted to look at each other, but they didn’t, and this made me smile even more. I led the way to the kitchen, pretending I didn’t hear them whispering again.

Turning the flame on beneath the kettle, I asked Beth and Austin if instant coffee was all right, and when they nodded, I asked them to sit at the table, excused myself, and went back to the hall. There she was, on the bench of the hall tree, looking at her own reflection. I picked her up and carried her to the utility room, which had been turned into the roost room. I placed Monte Crispo on the floor and she scurried over to the water bottle and pecked at it a few times, releasing water into her beak. Then she turned to the feeder and began eating some of the crumbles. I asked her to keep a low profile and went back the kitchen.

The young people wore smiles when I entered the room, the sort of smiles that made me think of an arm wrestling contest or a man with diarrhea who knows that the next rest stop is more than 20 miles down the highway. I asked again if everything was okay, and they both said yes again, immediately and loudly. Not a genius but not a fool, I had some inkling of the bingo balls that were currently bouncing around in their heads, waiting to land in the chute.  So I cleared my throat and told them that they were under no obligation to stay and have coffee with an old man who was clearly a bit dim in the filament, an old man who had a chicken as a house pet, and that I quite understood that they needed to be getting on down the road.

The expressions on their faces told me that my arrow had hit pretty close to bull’s-eye, and I could see them internally scrambling to both pooh-pooh my assumptions and downplay their restlessness. Such is the curious and undeniable telepathy that flashes between married couples after years of close contact.

I shushed them, reached over, and shut off the kettle, which was just about to start its whreeeeing. I explained that I had an old thermos I no longer needed and that I would be happy to make enough instant coffee to fill the thermos and that they could be on their way within two minutes. I don’t know if it was guilt or resignation or something else, but they told me with firm words that they really, truly, honestly wanted to sit there and have a cup of coffee with me, and that they weren’t in nearly as big a hurry as they might have seemed.

Their faces were open and clear as I looked from one to the other, and what I saw in them suited me. I told them that I was very pleased to hear it, and I got the jar of coffee down from the cabinet. Two mugs stood next to the stove, and I took a third from the cabinet. Spooning dark granules into the mugs, I poured boiling water from the kettle into each one and left the spoons in them so that everyone could stir his or her own coffee. I was just about to ask about milk and sugar when Jamie’s voice cut through the house, calling from her room down the hall. I excused myself and hurried to her. Monte Crispo was standing at the door between the kitchen and the hallway, and I almost tripped over her. She rebuked me in her fashion and hopped sideways into the kitchen. I left her there to entertain our guests and went to Jamie’s room.

To be continued…

~S.K. Orr