Free Spring Rain by Gayle Roper

Julia said.
    “Here, Grandma Jule. You sit here and relax.” Billy waved toward the comfy chair. “Clay and I can pour the tea.”
    Clay looked a bit startled but didn’t disagree.
    “Thank you, Billy.” Julia settled herself.
    “No problem,” he assured her. “The oldest always gets the best seat.”
    Julia barely flinched at the backhanded courtesy. “As I said before, thanks, Billy.” She reached down and petted Terror who now sat at her feet, tongue lolling as he gazed at her with adoration.
    “He likes you,” Billy said.
    “That’s because I rescued him from the car where someone who shall be nameless had left him. He was crying, weren’t you, baby?”
    Terror responded to the loving tone of voice by climbing onto her lap.
    Leigh made herself busy handing out desserts while Billy instructed Clay on the art of pouring tea.
    “Uncle Ted likes a smidge of cream and two spoons of sugar. That’s right.” He took the mug and carefully walked to Ted’s bedside table. “And Grandma Jule uses one tiny spoonful. She’s trying to cut down so she doesn’t get fat. Or so she says. I personally think it’s because she wants to impress Dr. Traynor.”
    “Dr. Traynor?” Clay looked at his mother, questions written allover his face.
    “Ted’s doctor,” Julia said blandly, meeting his look steadily. “Good man.” She turned to Billy. “Did anyone ever tell you you talk too much?”
    “Yeah.” He grinned unrepentantly. “My mom.”
    “And how true that is,” Leigh said as she offered a piece of pie to Ted. She wasn’t surprised when Ted held up a hand and shook his head. Yesterday herpes sores had appeared on his lips and in his mouth. Dr. Traynor had started him on medication immediately, but eating was painful for the moment and would become an ordeal if the virus moved down his throat and into his esophagus.
    “Junket?” she asked.
    “I think I can manage that.”
    Julia jumped up and plumped pillows behind him. Leigh handed him the dish of custard and a spoon, then sat on the arm of Julia’s chair. Clay watched, leaning against the far wall, out of the way. Somehow, Terror had weaseled his way back onto the bed. He lay beside Ted, panting, watching the Junket carefully.
    “Oh, Julia.” Leigh rolled a piece of pie around in her mouth. “This is delicious.”
    “It is,” Clay agreed. “I’d forgotten what a good cook you are, Mom.”
    “She’s the best,” Billy said. “Can I have Ted’s piece?”
    “Please?” Leigh said as she handed it to him.
    “Please.” He grinned and went to stand beside Clay, leaning against the wall in imitation.
    Leigh pulled her eyes from the two—it was too painful to contemplate them together, too dangerous—and looked at Ted. His hands lay in his lap, his dish of Junket sliding south, his spoon dangling from his fingers. Terror was edging forward ever so slowly.
    Leigh reached for the spoon and the dish. “Here, Ted. Let me help. Open your mouth and make like a little bird.”
    As she fed Ted, she was aware of Clay watching them. Watching her.
    Act naturally. Act naturally.
    It was going to be a very long week. Or two weeks. Or month. Or whatever.

Five
    H E STOOD IN THE dark, watching. He liked spying like this. It made him feel powerful, like he knew stuff no one else did.
    Well, he did. He knew stuff that Leigh-Leigh didn’t, that was for sure. His chest swelled with the importance of it all. Besides him, only Johnny knew, and Johnny was dead.
    He sighed. He missed Johnny. The man was slime; there was no doubt about it, but he’d never had a better friend. Sure, Johnny made fun of him a lot, even called him Worm all the time.
    He sighed. He could still hear Johnny chanting in that mocking voice, “Hey, Worm! Nobody likes you, everybody hates you, guess you’ll go eat worms. Big, fat juicy ones; little, tiny, skinny ones—oh, how they wiggle and squirm. First you’ll bite off their heads, then suck out their guts, then throw their skins away.