Chapter 6
Needless to say, I ignored Tennille’s threat. Instead, I made sure Danica went through the drive-through pharmacy, arrived home and got settled, had all her medications laid out, and waited while she showered. “I need to make sure you don’t get a dizzy spell and fall down.”
“I haven’t been dizzy.” She tilted her head at me. “But that’s probably a good idea.”
While she cleaned up, I did what every good real estate broker does: I assessed the property. Eighteen hundred square feet, approximately. Three bedrooms, two full baths, a living room and a large eat-in kitchen. The yard looked close to a third of an acre, but it backed up to the woods, and the property line might include a lot of trees. Grass extended everywhere, with little oases of flowerbeds and even a gazebo with wrought-iron furniture.
It was everything I would’ve pictured Danica having in her life—minus the husband and kids. The place looked ready-made for a family. I could help her out with that.
The sun had set, and twilight blanketed the place. So peaceful, I almost wished I lived in Wilder River instead of the city.
“Knock-knock,” someone called through the screen door at the back of the house. “Whose truck is out front? Danica? Are you home?”
Uh-oh. That voice was unmistakable: sweet, but I’d seen the sour edge of it a few times in my day.
Her mom’s voice.
My first instinct was to hide. Geez. I hadn’t hidden from anyone since I was a kid, but the idea of confronting Mrs. Denton before I’d reconciled with Danica tore me to a million pieces. Bumped by my fingers, the straw squeaked in the lid of my Pepsi cup, and I cringed. For sure, she’d heard that.
“Danica? Are you in there?” The doorknob rattled, but I’d locked it. “Honey? I called the hospital and they said you’d been released into the care of a friend. We got back from our Norway trip as fast as we could, booking a flight the minute we heard about the accident.” Well, that explained their absence. “Sweetheart? Are you in there? You’re not answering your phone. I’m getting concerned. Whose truck is that?”
Too much had been said now for me to emerge from the shadows of the darkening house and come up to the door and respond. Like the coward I was, I waited.
Finally, after a few more pleas, her car’s engine sputtered to life, and gravel crunched as Nancy Denton drove away.
Whew. I collapsed onto the sofa. Just then, Danica emerged from her bedroom, her fair hair damp but still curly, and her cheeks shiny from a fresh scrub.
A queen.
“I didn’t faint.”
Maybe not, but I almost did, drinking in her beauty. “Should we see whether you have any food in the house, or whether I should order you some delivery?”
A faint wince crossed her face. “Man, I don’t know why, but the thought of delivery bothers me.”
“All right, then. Let’s check out the pantry.”
The pantry … was bleak. “Danica, forgive me for pointing this out, but when a woman’s sole pantry item is Top Ramen, there’s a problem.”
“Maybe I don’t cook.”
Then, it hit me. She didn’t cook. Big time. She’d failed culinary class twice due to multiple fires she’d set, and finally Mrs. Milligan had asked Danica to transfer to wood shop. “Now that you mention it, I should do the cooking.”
Instead of the pantry, I checked the refrigerator. Good, good, good. “This will do.” I pulled out a loaf of sliced bread, some cheddar cheese, and a stick of butter. “Prepare yourself to be dazzled.”
It took me a few minutes, but I whipped up a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches. Mine, I cooked golden brown, but just as I was about to pull Danica’s off the flame, a memory flashed up, and I left it on until a slight char formed.
“Voilà.” I slipped it onto a plate, which I set in front of her, and then cut it in half on the diagonal. “Would you like steak sauce with that?”
“Do I like steak sauce on grilled cheese?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Let me taste it first. Why did you purposely burn mine, when yours is—”
I lifted a triangle’s point and stuffed it into her mouth. She chomped down on it. “Mm.” She talked through the crispy chewing. “It’s really good.”
“Do you still blank slightly burned grilled cheese?”
“Love,” she muttered and then took another bite. “No steak sauce required.”
For myself, I poured a tiny puddle of A-1 onto my plate and dipped a triangle point into it, the One True Way to enjoy grilled cheese. Also, golden brown. But who was I to question Danica’s taste?