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“Analyzing.” Squally’s round black eyes shifted back and forth to indicate it was processing the request. “Pitch, loudness, and format features indicative of savouring emotions such as contentment and pleasure. Humming is also indicative of—”
“Humming?” Devra interrupted. “I wasn’t humming.”
“Reanalyzing.” Squally paused for another few seconds. “After review, sound-recognition protocols predict with ninety-seven percent certainty that you were, in fact, humming.”
Devra leaned back in her chair. “I was humming?”
“You were humming.”
“What was I humming?”
“There is an eighty-nine percent match to the song ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’ by Cyndi Lauper.”
“ ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’?”
“ ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun.’ ”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Pause.
“Would you like me to play the song for you?”
“No. No, thank you. That’s great. Exit analysis mode.”
“Okay!”
Devra scratched the back of her neck, more miffed by the humming than she was by any number of complex mathematical equations. She let out a long exhalation, all too aware that the outlier in her day, and thus the likely cause of her mood, had been the visit from Bradley. Apparently his upbeat attitude was contagious.
The corners of her mouth lifted as she thought about his rambling sentences, which, while still confusing at times, were also sort of endearing. She glanced at the delicious cookies he’d left for her. Definitely not poisonous, given her mass consumption. Such a kind and friendly gesture.
But friendship was a risk. Happiness was a risk. Risks that weren’t worth chancing. She told herself this daily. Except now another thought was competing with the rest. Bradley. And a touch of longing for the simple pleasure of an entirely unpredictable conversation.
Something bad was going to happen…But something bad was going to happen no matter what, right?
She grabbed another cookie. It melted in her mouth. It was so sweet. A forgotten taste. And as soon as she swallowed, she was left wanting more.
The ball was in her court now. She knew this. She just had no idea how to begin.
“Squally, do people still send thank-you cards these days?”
“Sure they do! For baby showers, weddings, and more regularly if you are over the age of seventy.”
Devra frowned. Then it occurred to her. Since Bradley had just moved into the area, wasn’t she supposed to give him a gift, not the other way around?
Since she wasn’t prepared to put on the one hundred and one layers she needed to leave the house (both literally and metaphorically) and buy him a present from a store—at Christmastime—and she wasn’t about to put her faith in the postal system again, she began sifting through her cupboards. She didn’t know how to bake, or even cook, really, if she had the ingredients to make anything giftable in the first place. When her attention snagged on the sink, newly leak-free, an idea sparked. Heading to her supply closet, she gathered what she needed. She removed the remaining cookies from the Tupperware container, gave it a quick wash, then filled it up with the perfect housewarming gift.
With the package ready to go, she went to her front door. She turned the knob, opened the door, hesitated, took a small step—
A heavy slab of snow crashed down from the roof.
Devra screamed and jumped backward, just as a single icicle stabbed down into the pile like a dagger.
She slammed the door shut, slumped forward, and rested her forehead against the door as she tried to catch her breath.
One more step and she would have been standing directly underneath that avalanche, that death spike. The thought of willingly going out there now, after such an obvious warning…
