The Second Summoning

“Kisses for kitty. And you might want to help Dean with those packages.” Deleting a few expletives, Claire hung up and hurried across the room as Dean returned with breakfast, his entrance turning into an extended production bordering on farce as he attempted to deal with two bags of takeout, the room key, and a cold wind from across the parking lot that kept dragging the door from his grip.

“It’d be easier if you’d come farther into the room,” Claire pointed out, taking the bags.

Flashing her a grateful smile, he gained control of the door. “I’m trying not to track slush on the carpet.”

Claire glanced down. All things considered, she doubted that a little slush would hurt, but then she wasn’t the person who’d borrowed cleaning supplies from the housekeeping staff at every cheap motel they’d stayed in. The strange thing was, given how paranoid many of them were about releasing an extra sliver of soap, he almost always succeeded.

By the time she returned her attention to Dean, he had his coat off and was bending over his boot laces. And that was always worth watching. Perhaps his success with various housekeeping staffs wasn’t so strange after all.

“Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if he’d recently found a way to iron his jeans or if they’d been ironed so often the creases had become a structural component of the denim. “You’re moving a bit tentatively.”

“My glasses fogged,” he explained straightening. With one hand he pushed dark hair back from blue eyes and with the other he removed his glasses for cleaning.

Austin muttered something under his breath that sounded very much like,

“Superman!”

Claire ignored him and began unpacking the food, fully conscious of Dean walking past her into the bathroom. He smelled like fresh air and fabric softener.

She’d never considered fabric softener erotic before.

“Sausages?” Whiskers twitched. “I wanted bacon.”

“You’re having geriatric cat food.”

“We’re out.”

“Nice try. There’s four cans left.”

He looked disgusted. “I’m not eating that. Those cans came out of the garbage.”

“Interesting you should know that since you were in the bathroom when I found them.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, he shot her an indignant green-gold glare with his one remaining eye. “Are you accusing me of something?” Claire looked at him for a moment, then turned to Dean as he returned to the main room. “Dean, did you put Austin’s cat food in the garbage?” He had the grace to look sheepish as he took both plates of food from her and put them on the table. “Not this time.”

“Then, yes, I’m accusing you of something.” She popped the top of one of the cans, scooped out some brown puree onto a saucer with a plastic spoon and pushed it along the dresser toward the cat. “You’re seventeen and a half years old; you know what the vet said.”

“Turn your head and cough?”

“Austin . . .”

“All right. All right. I’ll eat it.” He sniffed the saucer and sighed. “I hope you realize that I plan on living long enough to see them feeding you stewed prunes at the nursing home.”

Claire bent down and kissed the top of his head. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

They ate in silence for a few moments. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence.

Finally, Claire stopped eating and watched Dean clean his plate with the efficiency of a young man who hadn’t eaten for over six hours. She usually liked watching him eat.

He paused, the last bite of toast halfway to his mouth. “Something wrong?” Aren’t we supposed to be talking about last night? “Diana called.”

“Here?” The last of his toast disappeared.

“Well, duh.” Why aren’t we talking about last night?

“Is she in trouble?”

“No, she just passed on a warning.” I have an explanation; don’t you want to hear it?

“About what?”

“She didn’t know.” Why are we talking about my sister?

“Helpful.” Plate cleaned, Dean picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair, carefully peeling back the plastic lid.

Things seemed to be going nowhere. Claire picked up her own cup and took a long swallow. She could read nothing from his expression, couldn’t tell if he was just being polite, and Dean was always polite, or if he honestly wasn’t bothered, and Dean was so absolutely certain of his place in the world that not a whole lot bothered him.

This was one of the things Claire liked best about him although it did make him a little passive, secure in the knowledge that if he just waited patiently the world would fix itself. As one of the people who fixed the world, Claire found this extremely irritating. And does everyone hold mutually opposing views about the people they’re in . . . Shying away from the “L” word, she settled for ... a hotel room with, or is it just me?

She suspected she needed to watch more Oprah.

Although women who save the world and the men who confuse them sounded more like a visit to Jerry Springer, provided she gained a hundred and fifty pounds and lost half of her vocabulary.

Look, if he’s not questioning, why should you? With that settled, she took another drink.

“So, where do we go from here?”