Page 22 of Flint

“And what’s that?”

“That I didn’t choke the life out of Ronnie’s first husband when I had the chance.” There’s no mistaken the cold gleam in her eye. This is a woman that if she had a do-over probably would have ended him without a second thought.

“For your next birthday, what do you say me and you go to Thailand? We’ll celebrate your special day together.”

“I like the way you think, kid.” She smiles, all dentures and gums. “You be good to my babies. They’re all that’s left of this old, old heart.”

I go back to focusing on the dresser I’m trying to fix. Damn thing has clearly been patched together a few dozen times already. “You’re not leaving this earth any time soon, Alice.”

She lets out a dry cough. “Don’t I know it. I’m not getting into heaven, and hell won’t have me.”

“Is he dead?”

“We need a stick then we can poke him.”

The conversation pulls me from sleep, and I reach instinctively for Duchess who sleeps on my chest. I give her a little scratch behind the ears. It's early morning even by cowboy standards when I crack one eyelid open to see Branson and Brock standing at the couch.

They're dressed in their cartoon pajamas with their hair rumpled, little faces still creased from their pillows. “I'm not dead.”

“Cool. Can we play with your cat?” Brock asks.

“Does she like it when you pull her tail? My friend says if you pull a cat’s tail really hard that she makes awesome sounds,” Branson adds.

“This is Duchess. We don’t ever pull her tail. Or any cat’s tail. Your friend was mistaken,” I explain as I wonder which little psychopath told him that.

“But we can pet her?” Brock presses.

Duchess opens her eyes, looks at the boys with the usual disdain she reserves for Thomas, and scurries away from us. I hear the cat door swish, and I can’t blame her. Clearly, Duchess understands human conversations.

“Not right now,” I answer and fight a yawn when I see the time on my watch.

“Can we watch cartoons then?” Branson brandishes the remote in his hand. I'm not sure what Ronnie's rule is around TV. As it is, I already put a parental lock on mine.

I push myself into a sitting position. “Let’s start with breakfast. Do you guys like scrambled eggs?”

Brock scowls. “Gross.”

“They taste like slugs,” Branson adds.

“Well, that’s descriptive,” I mutter and get to my feet. Fortunately, I thought that maybe I should get some kid-friendly foods. “How about cereal then?”

I lead them to my walk-in pantry, opening the door to show them the cereals I purposely placed on the bottom shelf. Am I trying to win their affection with sugar? Yes, I am, and I’m man enough to admit it. The T-rex bed was about delighting them and making this place feel like home. But this? This is straight bribery, and I won’t apologize for it.

They each grab a different box then start fighting over which cereal flavor is better. I let them battle it out while I set the table, frowning at my ceramic dishes. I should buy some brightly colored plastic ones for the boys like Ronnie has.

Once they’re settled, I start the coffee pot and reach for the electric kettle I bought just for this moment. Except Ronnie isn’t awake yet, and I didn’t hear her grandmother creaking around either. I’ll wait on that.

Instead, I start on some bacon. The boys chatter the entire time about dinosaurs, horses, and how many farts you can hold inside your butt before you blow up. Apparently, the number is still up for debate.

“Mom!” Brock says.

I turn from my place at the stove to see Ronnie coming into the kitchen. She’s wearing a thin cotton T-shirt that goes down to mid-thigh. It’s an old one that has holes on the side, and the material stretches tight across her tits. Have those grown? It feels like they have. Or maybe it’s just the lust from not having had my mouth all over her for a month now.

“Hey, beautiful,” I say.

She blushes. “Thanks for settling them with breakfast.”

“Look at this, Mom. Flint has a grocery store right here!” Branson gets out of his seat and rushes over to the walk-in pantry, opening the door so she can see all of the different kinds of cereal I have.