Free Threads by Patsy Brookshire Page B

gave up and settled at the kitchen table. The bread had risen and baked
and I'd even eaten a piece of it. I watched the waves surge in and out, the surf breaking with the
white foam against the gray of the autumn ocean. I sat with my hands in my lap, not trying to
busy them or my mind.
    Waiting.
    I was watching the clouds lighten as the sun set behind them when I heard David's
knock on the door. My hands flew up and settled again in my lap before I was able to say,
"Come in, David."
    He came in all smiles. His first words were, "Are you ready?"
    Ready for what: to be shot? Killed? Maimed in some horrible way by an outraged wife?
I was too stunned to speak.
    He must have realized he'd been abrupt. He put his arms around me, lifting me to stand
with my head on his shoulder. "Everything's all right. I told you it would be."
    I couldn't believe it.
    "Come on, she wants to meet you."
    At that, I pulled back. "Never."
    "Don't be silly, how are you going to live with us without ever meeting Amy?" He
thought he had everything solved because he had been able to get one woman to agree to his
crazy scheme.
    I was suddenly so weary that I had to sit down. He was looking around like he was
deciding what I should bring with me.
    "I told you before that I wouldn't live with you."
    His forehead wrinkled and his eyes grew wide. "But Sophie, it's all arranged. Amy
agrees with me, I'll fix it with the landlady."
    "Don't 'But Sophie' me. To have Amy agree to me even being in the same country with
you is enough for me. I don't want to meet her, I couldn't face her. And I doubt--"
    "You're getting upset for--"
    "--that she really wants to meet me."
    He couldn't budge me. He finally had to accept it. That's the way it stayed for the next
five months.

13. A Bit of Fluff
    David visited every day. Amy sent books for me to read, though I wasn't much of a
reader. Once in a while she sent soup and bread, which I ate because David saw to it that I did.
He and I went for walks when the weather wasn't too stormy, me all bundled up like a
mummy.
    I was uncomfortable outdoors. Amy had the advantage of being able to see me, to watch
me through that telescope. David insisted she wasn't watching me, but I knew she could if she
wanted to. I would have.
    The first month being alone wasn't so bad. October, a wonderful month along the coast.
But as winter set in, and dragged on--oh, the loneliness. It got terrible. The rain wasn't too bad, at
least it was something to watch, but the everlastin' fog beat me.
    It curled up and settled around the cabin, at first like a cozy blanket. After a while it
became like a prison. Nothing but gray everwhich way I looked. The continual roaring of the
winter ocean got on my nerves. When the big storms came, the waves smacked against each
other with a loud CRACK! then thundered down on the sand. It was exhilarating when
there was someone to share it with; alone it frightened me. Even with no storm there was always
that noise of the water moving. I began to understand why Amy didn't go down anymore.
    When David was with me I didn't hear the ocean and it didn't matter what the weather
was. He came for lunch every day, bringing groceries and newspapers and gossip from town.
The two hours he stayed became the only part of the day worth getting up for.
    The thing that saved my sanity, I'm sure, was the company of Punkin Sue Tiger, a
golden kitten David gave me for Halloween. He came late one afternoon, near evening, his hands
behind his back. "Close your eyes and put out your hands," he said.
    I didn't feel comfortable doing that since one of my brothers handed me a snake once.
After he promised I would like the surprise, I yielded, as I did in so many things to him.
    The moment David put a little warm bundle of fur into my hands, my eyes snapped
open. It was the cutest thing--a furry kitten, about six weeks old. He squeaked when I lifted him
up close, then started purring when I laid him on my shoulder. The more I petted him the