“If you’re about to tell me she’s only here for five more days, I’m going to need you to reconsider your strategy.”
“I’m not,” he said.
“Good.”
“I’m going to need you to reconsider your strategy.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“You handled it twice.”
He leaned against the counter.
“I know.”
“And now our bedroom doesn’t have a door.”
“I noticed.”
“You handled it twice.”
“I’m considerably past panic, Harold.”
That almost made him smile.
Then he lowered his voice.
“I’ll teach her a lesson.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing yet.”
“I’ll teach her a lesson.”
That strange little smile finally appeared.
“Wait until she goes to bed.”
I hated that answer.
I also wanted to know what it meant.
Dinner was awkward.
Grace wasn’t.
“Wait until she goes to bed.”
She ate roast chicken and discussed her apartment repairs as though she hadn’t spent the afternoon dismantling part of our house.
Harold didn’t mention the door.
Neither did I.
That made her cheerful.
Harold didn’t mention the door.
She apparently interpreted silence as surrender.
Around nine-thirty, she stood and yawned.
