A Mingled Yarn by Melissa F. Miller

Author:Melissa F. Miller [Miller, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brown Street Books
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

7

It was just after five o’clock by the time Sasha and Connelly fought the early rush of Friday cross-town traffic from the birthing center to Shadyside. Sasha had nearly made several wrong turns, distracted and coasting along on an autopilot route to the condo rather than the new house. Beside her, Connelly was unusually fidgety but didn’t mention her driving.

“How’d you get to the birthing center anyway?” she asked mainly to make conversation as she waited for a city bus to take on passengers.

“Hank gave me a lift because the movers had me blocked in.”

“Wait—you left the movers at the house? I thought they were supposed to be done by four.” She cut her eyes toward him.

“Easy, tiger. Naya arranged for Carl to babysit the movers so I wouldn’t have to miss the appointment.”

She took her hands off the steering wheel and shook them a few times in an effort to release her pent-up tension before answering. Then she retook the wheel and inched the car forward, just in time to get stuck at the red light that the bus blew through.

“I’m glad you were there. Really glad. And it was nice of Carl to do that, but did you explain everything to him? How to read the chart? The color coding?”

“Sasha—”

“Don’t Sasha me.”

“I’ll Sasha you if I want to. You’re not actually getting worked up about the fact that the movers might mistakenly put the mugs in the cabinet you have earmarked for water glasses. What are you really worried about—work? The ultrasound?”

“No. Well, yes, of course. But that’s not all of it.” She bit down on her lip. She didn’t want to mention the call from Detective Benson. Not yet. They couldn’t afford to be distracted by Costopolous right now. They had to make a decision about the ultrasound. And then she hoped to convince him to swab his cheek with a Q-tip and send his DNA off into the world, a proposition she suspected he’d resist.

“What?”

“Let’s go home, walk Mocha, feed Java, and then head out for an early dinner. There’s a rustic Italian joint that just opened in the space under the French bakery. We can talk about everything over a couple bowls of ribollita. And a nice glass of red for you.”

He relaxed back into the seat and rested a warm hand on her thigh. “That sounds perfect. And we can celebrate the new house.”

They continued on in silence, but it was a less funereal, more companionable quiet. Sasha turned onto their new street and noticed for the first time that all of their neighbors had well-tended gardens in full bloom. She tried to remember if their house had a flower garden. As she pulled up in front, she saw that there was, in fact, a garden. But in contrast to their neighbors’ gardens, which boasted fragrant climbing roses and colorful peonies, their garden was a brown, weed-choked mess. She eyed a pair of stalky weeds that were easily six inches taller than she was.

As

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