[log post]
Maya woke up to the smell of coffee gone cold. Sleepily, she moved around in the blankets, trying to get some more warmth from the three blankets she'd demanded that they have. Without opening her eyes, she could still feel Pearly sleeping beside her, and she rolled over to find where Mr. Godot was.
By the time she rolled off the bed, she realized that Mr. Godot wasn't there anymore. With a start, she opened her eyes and wrestled her way out of the blankets. "Mr. Godot?" she asked aloud, hoping not to wake Pearly. Shoving the last blanket off herself, she padded her way to the kitchen, where the coffee-makers were. "Mr. Godot!" She couldn't hear any response. If they'd become unstuck, maybe he would have gone out somewhere, and he'd be back soon, right?
Somehow, she knew that that wasn't the answer.
"A lawyer can't cry until it's all over," he had said last night, after Pearly had gone to sleep.
"But I'm a spirit medium," she'd insisted. "So that means I can cry whenever, right?"
"It's not over yet, kitten."
It wasn't over yet, he had said. So there was no way he could have given up on her. Nick . . . Nick had his girlfriend and his daughter and didn't need her, and Pearly was too little, and Sis had left long ago, but there had always still been Mr. Godot. If she closed her eyes, she could think that he was coming back soon, the smell of the coffee still in the air. He wouldn't leave, would he? But, even she could see how tired he was, and how --
When she opened her eyes, she saw the knife.
The blood.
Mr. Godot's blood.
Her eyes widened, and she bit back a scream. What could she do? she thought frantically, searching the other rooms for any sign of, well, anything. What would Nick do? came the unbidden thought, but she hastily pushed that away. She had to solve some of her problems herself, not relying upon Nick for everything.
He's not dead, is he?
The sense of dread that had been creeping upon her all morning went all-out, and Maya stood at the kitchen counter in shock, staring at the coffee and the knife and the blood. "Mr. Godot," she whispered, unable to do anything else. With a fingertip, she gently wiped at an area the blood had fallen. "Are you . . . ?"
No . . .
All around her, she could smell the remains of last night's coffee, but all of the pots were empty.
By the time she rolled off the bed, she realized that Mr. Godot wasn't there anymore. With a start, she opened her eyes and wrestled her way out of the blankets. "Mr. Godot?" she asked aloud, hoping not to wake Pearly. Shoving the last blanket off herself, she padded her way to the kitchen, where the coffee-makers were. "Mr. Godot!" She couldn't hear any response. If they'd become unstuck, maybe he would have gone out somewhere, and he'd be back soon, right?
Somehow, she knew that that wasn't the answer.
"A lawyer can't cry until it's all over," he had said last night, after Pearly had gone to sleep.
"But I'm a spirit medium," she'd insisted. "So that means I can cry whenever, right?"
"It's not over yet, kitten."
It wasn't over yet, he had said. So there was no way he could have given up on her. Nick . . . Nick had his girlfriend and his daughter and didn't need her, and Pearly was too little, and Sis had left long ago, but there had always still been Mr. Godot. If she closed her eyes, she could think that he was coming back soon, the smell of the coffee still in the air. He wouldn't leave, would he? But, even she could see how tired he was, and how --
When she opened her eyes, she saw the knife.
The blood.
Mr. Godot's blood.
Her eyes widened, and she bit back a scream. What could she do? she thought frantically, searching the other rooms for any sign of, well, anything. What would Nick do? came the unbidden thought, but she hastily pushed that away. She had to solve some of her problems herself, not relying upon Nick for everything.
He's not dead, is he?
The sense of dread that had been creeping upon her all morning went all-out, and Maya stood at the kitchen counter in shock, staring at the coffee and the knife and the blood. "Mr. Godot," she whispered, unable to do anything else. With a fingertip, she gently wiped at an area the blood had fallen. "Are you . . . ?"
No . . .
All around her, she could smell the remains of last night's coffee, but all of the pots were empty.