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Confusion rendered him momentarily speechless. She looked ... happy.
"C'mon Daddy. It's ready."
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He fished the pocket watch from his pants pocket and flipped it open. He immediately frowned. "But it's only four o'clock. We don't usually eat for another hour."
Savannah shrugged. "All I know is, Mama said to get you for supper." She glanced back over her shoulder toward the house. "Now I gotta go. We're playing games."
Before Jack could say a word, she was gone, skipping across the grass for home.
"Games?"
He glanced at his nice, orderly tools and felt a flash of fear. "What now? Amarylis?"
Reluctantly Jack left the barn and headed for the house. As he passed the oak tree, he heard a happy, high-pitched giggle coming from the open kitchen window.
He paused, frowning. Laughter?
Then came Savannah's voice: "Here it is, Mama. Under the pie safe!"
And more giggles.
Jack's stomach tightened into a small, anxious knot. He climbed the steps slowly, wincing at each creak of the tired old wood. The doorknob felt cold and strangely unfamiliar in his hand as he entered the kitchen.
The first thing he noticed was the mouth-watering aroma of roasting chicken. The second was the pandemonium.
Amarylis and Katie and Savannah were running around the kitchen and living room, giggling, crawling under furniture, lifting lamps.
"Here's a soupspoon!" Katie yelled, laughing, as she produced a spoon from beneath the sofa's cushion.
Jack frowned and quietly shut the door behind him. As he moved into the room, he noticed the table.
"What the hell ..."
The table was set with flowers, plates, cups, silverware,
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even salt and pepper. The only problem was, all of the utensils were painted onto the tablecloth in bright red.
He studied the strange artwork, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. "Hello, Jack. Welcome home."
He heard his wife's softly spoken words, and cringed. Ramming his hands deep in his pockets, he grudgingly looked up at her. She was standing in front of the kitchener, her hands clasped together like the well-bred southern lady she had always claimed to be.
And yet, she looked . . . different. Disheveled. Her cheeks were flushed from steamy heat and laughter, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that made him ache with longing. Once, long ago, she'd looked like this whenever they'd been together.
She watched him study her, making no move to turn away. A slow, sensuous smile curved her full lips. Crazily, he felt it was a smile meant for him and him alone. He clenched his jaw and looked away. The oven door creaked open, then banged shut. The aroma of roasting chicken and potatoes filled the small room.
Jack searched for something to say that would sever the ridiculous feeling of lightness seeping into his consciousness. "Why is supper so damned early?"
Staring at the bizarre tablecloth, he waited, arms crossed, for her to answer. She didn't.
"Amarylis?"
Still nothing.
He crossed the kitchen in two giant steps and came up beside her. "Goddamn it, I'm talking to you."
