Part 12 (1/2)
”You're not serious,” I protested. ”It's 1:00 in the morning.”
”I don't want to do that. Well, I do, but I'll live tonight. I just want to sleep. Move over.”
”This is kind of risky, Ca.s.s. Mom gets up early.”
”So? You're being awfully proper for someone whose ancestor fathered 30 children out of wedlock.”
”We don't know that for sure,” I said defensively, but moved over to let her in. ”Promise you'll go back upstairs early?”
She busied herself getting comfortable. ”Set the alarm, and I will.”
That was all I could ask, then. Reaching up to the end table, I grabbed the travel alarm, reset it, and put it back. ”Goodnight, sweetheart.”
”You too,” she murmured. ”Sweet dreams.”
It was very quiet for a long time.
”Devvy?”
”Ca.s.s?”
”What if we just have 15 children out of wedlock? I think 30 would be showing off.”
I pulled the pillow out from under my head, whacked her with it, and then replaced it without a word. Ca.s.sie just laughed.
(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 11 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.
CHAPTER 11.
Ca.s.sie was still there when I woke up, which was long after I'd set the travel alarm for. At first I thought it hadn't gone off, but then I saw it lying on its face halfway across the room. Ca.s.s had an awful habit of doing that to alarm clocks.
Apprehensively, I got out of bed and slipped out of the den, taking care not to wake her. It was still early, and everything seemed quiet; I'd just make a quick reconnaissance pa.s.s before deciding what to do.
First, though, I was going to turn up the thermostat. The house was freezing.
I'd just touched the dial when a small noise startled me. Connor was sacked out in the recliner, snoring lightly. Great. Either Jen had kicked him out of bed for some trespa.s.s or he'd gotten up in the middle of the night to watch ”Mystery Science Theater” reruns, but it didn't matter -- this was a problem. Ca.s.sie would complain when I woke her, loudly enough to wake him, and I wasn't up to explanations. Not even to lies. Not before coffee.
Troubled, I considered the situation. He seemed to be dead to the world, but you could never tell with Connor; he could doze off watching football but tell you the score if you poked him. It was one of his scarier talents.
I was on the verge of poking him just to see what would happen when a hand landed on my shoulder. The surprise was too much; a second before I realized who it was, I yelped. Ca.s.sie tried to slap her other hand over my mouth, but it was too late. Connor was awake. Worse, he was in a good mood.
”Is this some strange s.e.xual practice I should know about?” he asked.
Seriously annoyed, I threw Ca.s.sie off. ”Get therapy, Connor.”
”What for? I never felt better.” Yawning, he ran a hand over his disheveled hair. ”Morning, Ca.s.sie. You're looking lovely today. Sleep well, did you?”
She glanced at me before answering. ”I did, thanks. You?”
”Oh, not so well, not so well, not so well. Jenny threw me out for snoring. She said if she has to deal with my mother all day, she needs a whole night's sleep.”
”She has a point,” I remarked. ”Sleep, and maybe a Doberman.”
Connor smiled. ”Maybe an armed Doberman. But never mind that. How did you sleep?”
This concern about my well-being was new and unwelcome. He was up to something. ”Fine.”
”Swell to hear it. I was worried you might be...oh, I don't know...lonesome in there all by yourself. Or cold. Or something. Hmmmm?”
Ca.s.sie coughed significantly and announced that she was going back upstairs. I waited until she turned the corner on the stair landing to whack my brother upside his pointy head.
”What was that for?” he protested, rubbing it.
”I'll give you something, buster. Wait till I tell your wife you were flirting with Ca.s.sie. You may never get something again without a credit card.”
”Flirting? That's not flirting. I'm just being friendly. Not as friendly as you, of course, but...hey!”
It wasn't nice to pull his chest hair, but it was his own fault for having any. ”Whatever you're up to, stop it.”
”I'm not up to anything. Can't a person have a polite conversation around here?”
”No.”
Unfazed, he flashed one of those big dopey grins of his. ”Suit yourself. I was going to start out polite this morning and work up to charming by lunch, but if you want me to just be myself...”
”Lesser of two evils,” I snapped.
”Temper,” he cautioned. ”It's Christmas.”
Not for two more days, it wasn't, which gave me time to wreak justice on him. But before I could start wreaking, we heard the terrible scuff of Mom's slippers on the stair landing.
Connor grimaced. ”You get the thermostat. I'll get the coffee. Run!”
”I don't know why you children insist on making coffee so strong,” Mom said for the dozenth time. ”It's wasteful.”
Dourly, I poured another shot. Connor did overdo it some, but better that than the way Mom made it, which was more like essence of coffee than the thing itself.
”There's coffee cake,” she added, also for the dozenth time. ”Where's Carrie?”
”Ca.s.sie,” I corrected. ”Taking a shower, I imagine. Why?”
”I just hope there's enough hot water for everyone. All of you take so long in the shower, and...”
”Drop it, Mother.”