Page 72 of Tangled Memories
“Did something go down that I missed?” Sandy asked once the kids disappeared.
“I can’t shake a bad feeling. Nina’s been gone far too long just to get a prescription filled.”
“You think she had a wreck or something?”
“No, she would have called. I don’t know. I just have a sense of dread. I think I’ll look in on Tully.”
She rapped on his bedroom door and was rewarded with a muttered reply. She poked her head around the door. Tully had the coverlet up to his neck, his head buried in a pillow.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked.
He raised his head, revealing an unshaven jaw and bloodshot eyes. “Terrible.”
“You want some ibuprofen?”
“No. I’ll live. Is Nina still in a snit?”
“Did you two have an argument?”
“Nina did. I was too hungover to hold up my end. Where is she?”
“Gone to pick up your medicine.”
“Probably arsenic,” he said, then dropped back onto the pillow.
“She did call the doctor for you, didn’t she? For a prescription?”
“I don’t know. I only asked for an antacid.”
Bristling with deepening apprehension, Stormy returned to the kitchen.
Sandy was in the alcove, flipping through Foley’s file, the candle they’d lit in a saucer in front of her. The scent was fabulous.
“I unplugged all the wax pots,” Sandy told her. “What’d your brother-in-law say?”
“He and Nina had an argument. He’s hungover with an upset stomach. He doesn’t know anything about a prescription. I called her cellphone, and it went straight to voicemail. So it’s either dead, or she turned it off. Dammit! What is Nina up to?”
“Do you suspect her of being up to something? What are you fixing for the kids? I’ll help.”
“Peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches,” Stormy said, falling back on a mother’s tried-and-true standby. Her mind was so aflame with dire possibilities; anything more complicated was beyond her. Still, it wasn’t fair to embroil Sandy in any family squabble that might erupt when Nina did return. She said as much.
Sandy nodded. “I know, but I’m staying, anyway. You’re worried. I’ll worry with you. I’m an ex-pat worrier. I’m a master worrier. I can think of things to worry about that haven’t even been invented yet.”
Stormy laughed. “Earlier, you were telling me we weren’t supposed to worry.”
“True, but since you insist on doing it, why let good talent go to waste? As soon as Nina is home safe, I’ll slip out the garage door.” She added bananas to the food tray. “Probably better if you take this up to the kids. The boys don’t really know me.”
Stormy put the cashbox filled with Sunday’s receipts on the edge of the tray. Leaving the money in sight was just another bone of contention for Nina to gnaw on.
She took the tray up, settled the children in front of the television, and then put Liane in charge.
“Liane’s not gonna boss me,” sputtered Davie.
“I wouldn’t waste my time bossing you. I’m a girl.”
“Please,” Stormy appealed to them. There was a catch in her voice; the children looked up at her.
“Mommy, is something wrong?”