My Sweet Annie

3

When I woke, muzzy and disoriented, I lay still for several minutes, hoping I would drift back to sleep. My bladder had other ideas. I sat up and reached for my phone. When I saw the screen, I frowned, unable to make sense of the time.

9:50? It was light out, judging from the sky I could see through the windows.

Then I realized it was 9:50 AM. My nap had become a sleep.

I couldn't remember the last time I had slept so late. I got out of bed, found fresh clothes, and got dressed. Then, I scraped my hair back into a messy ponytail without bothering to brush it, and I headed downstairs with my phone in hand, the stairs creaking loudly underneath my feet.

I paused at the foot of the stairs, noticing the things I'd left on the dining room table. "Oh, shit."

I had forgotten to put the groceries away. The milk was definitely bad. With a sigh at my own stupidity, I headed to the table to check through the bag and make sure nothing else was lost. Of course, I had bought deli meat and cheese for sandwiches. Did that stuff go bad if it went unrefrigerated?

Did I want to risk food poisoning to find out?

"Get your shit together," I muttered to myself, picking up the bag of groceries.

The kitchen was divided from the dining room by a door, something I hadn't seen in any of the houses we'd lived in since Gran's. I think the world had moved on to more open floor plans, but her house had been built in the early 1900s, so long ago that the bathrooms, dishwasher, and refrigerator had all been later additions to the place.

It was the same going into the kitchen as it had been entering the house: familiar. There was a comfortable blend of clutter and tidiness. Gran had been an attentive housekeeper, but she had accumulated a lot of belongings in her time on Earth, and those had been added to what she'd inherited from her own parents. For as long as I had to stay here, I would have everything I could possibly need to cook, bake, or eat, including enough plates for sixteen people. It had always been like that at Gran's.

As I stood just inside the kitchen door, getting my bearings, I caught the scent of something earthy and putrid. Something rotten.

I took my groceries out and sniffed the package of meat, the cheese, but it didn't seem they had spoiled to the point of smelling.

I checked the trash, but it was empty, lined with a fresh bag. I peeked in the sink and was glad to find it empty. I leaned my head in and took a sniff, but it didn't seem like the rotten smell was coming from the drains. Nevertheless, I turned the water on to hot to run for a minute.

The light on the dishwasher indicated that a cycle had been run. When I opened the door, I found a few things inside on the top rack: a bowl, a coffee cup, a glass. Everything looked clean and smelled of lemon.

Straightening, I caught sight of a piece of pale yellow paper on the counter above the dishwasher. Had it been there when we'd stopped by during the funeral? I honestly couldn't remember even coming into the kitchen. We'd stayed at a hotel in town. None of us had even mentioned staying at Gran's.

Dear Family —

I am so sorry for your loss.

As I do not know when you will be able to tend to the place I have come a couple times to water the plants and also tidied up a couple of things in the kitchen. I hope you do not find this an intrusion. We met at the funeral and I know you live a very far way away.

I still have Porkie, until you can make some arrangements for him. I cannot keep him because I am allergic. I am sure he will be glad to see you, when you come to pick him up.