Free Goose in the Pond by Earlene Fowler Page B

him. “I made the decision not to call because I figured it would be even harder if you heard it over the phone. I was certain I’d get home first and catch you before you saw him.”
    His bottom lip disappeared under his mustache. “I don’t appreciate being humiliated by my own wife in my own home in front of strangers.”
    “No one was trying to humiliate you, Gabe. And Rita is, unfortunately, not a stranger, but a relative. Believe me, I had no idea she was here. I still have to find out the story behind that . But let’s get back to the real issue here, and that’s you and Sam.”
    “There’s no issue. He’s here because his money ran out.”
    “That may be so,” I said carefully. “We honestly didn’t talk long enough for me to find out. I had to go to a meeting about the storytelling festival right after he showed up. But I’m sure—”
    “He won’t be staying long. He made his bed and he can sleep in it.”
    I went over and slipped my arms around his waist. His body was stiff and unyielding. “Gabe, why don’t you just hear him out? He is your son.”
    He pulled away from my embrace and started for the door. “He can stay for a couple of days, and that’s it. I’m sick of bailing him out because he’s too irresponsible to stick to any plans. He claims he’s a man. Well, men don’t expect other people to take care of them.”
    I followed him into the living room, not knowing exactly how to answer. The room was empty. A brown paper grocery sack with writing on it was propped on the pine coffee table.
    Rita and I walked downtown to get dinner. See you later. Sam.
    I let out my breath in a long sigh. Confrontation temporarily averted. Though normally not a procrastinator, I was thankful this male butting of heads was delayed. The thought of Gabe’s eighteen-year-old son spending a cozy evening with my twenty-two-year-old I-never-met-a-man-I-couldn’t-help-but-seduce cousin Rita was not my fondest wish, but I had to trust Sam. His virtue was certainly the least of my problems at this point.
    Gabe set the note down without commenting.
    “Why don’t you take a hot shower, and I’ll fix dinner,” I coaxed him. “Everything will look better once you’ve eaten.”
    He grunted what I assumed to be an agreement and pulled his polo shirt over his head. As he showered I whipped up a chicken, wild rice, and mushroom casserole. It was on the table thirty minutes later when he came into the kitchen, wet-haired and subdued. After resisting my attempts at light conversation, I left him to his silence and turned my thoughts to how I was going to organize the sleeping arrangements in our two-bedroom house. Then I moved on to worrying about the upcoming festival. The storytellers would start arriving on Thursday, and though I was certain I’d anticipated every problem or potential problem, I mentally went over everything one more time, looking for breaks in the fence.
    “Good dinner. Thanks,” Gabe said, standing up. “Leave the dishes, and I’ll do them tomorrow before my run. I think I’m going to watch TV in bed. You want to lock up?”
    “Sure. I’ve still got my opening speech for the festival to work on. I’ll stay up until the kids come home.” I gave him a teasing smile.
    His face sobered. “I guess you should give him a key. I don’t want either of us having to wait up every night just so we can lock up after him.”
    “Good idea,” I said, feeling more optimistic. Though his voice sounded chilly, at least he wasn’t suggesting we lock Sam out. Of course, that still didn’t take care of the problem of Rita. There was no way I was giving her a key to my house—I’d been down that potholed road before when I first moved into this house and she’d lived with me for a few months at the urging of my family and against my better judgment. Skeeter, before he acquired the position of Rita’s next of kin, had been a surprise guest one morning when I staggered into my kitchen wearing only