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"I said, did you let her out?" |
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"Out? No . . . I mean, yes." |
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Terry's eyebrow shot up like a polygraph needle. "Which is it?" She was at the stove cooking pancakes for Matty's breakfast. |
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"I forgot. I let her out when I got up." He had gotten out of bed about five-thirty, before the sun. His eyelids were lined with sandpaper and his head throbbed. |
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"She's been acting strange lately. I've got to take her to the vet." Then she glanced his way. "You don't look so good yourself. Sleep all right?" |
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"Little trouble dozing off." |
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He hadn't slept a moment since 3:48. He had rolled around the entire night trying to blot out the image . . . trying to convince himself that his son had not done the unspeakable. Convince himself that the cat had been ravaged by some night creaturesmaybe that sick raccoon; that he found the paw and kept it as a pathetic memento but was so sickened with grief that he dropped it into the toilet, then threw up. |
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"Finish your grades?" Terry slipped the pancakes. |
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Sure. Our son ate the family cat. |
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