The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 30, 2022

Evie didn't say goodbye in the morning. She slunk to her house, fed the animals, apologized to the dogs, who all looked scandalized. She started a batch of yogurt. It wasn't nine o'clock when Jo found the spare key and let herself in. There's was only one place Evie could be and Jo headed to the kitchen.

"How are you doing this morning?"

The big dog and the medium size dog both jumped up on Jo's legs, but the little dog was too small for that and yapped at her ankles. Evie snapped her fingers and pointed to the pet beds down the hall. Even the little blind dog shuffled away and lay down.

Evie said, "Much better, thank you."

"You can stay again tonight."

"I can't sleep over every night. I'm not a child."

"I don't mind," Jo said. "Dylan loves having you. It's nice company for me, too. I get lonely."

Something flashed in Evie's eyes, but a moment later, her face waxed a blank expression.

Evie said, "I've decided to move."

"What?" Jo screamed. "But you just got here."

"There are too many memories."

"How many memories can you gather in six months?"

"It's been longer than that," Evie said, counting on her fingers. "It's almost nine months now."

Evie whisked the milk. It took about twenty minutes for the milk to get to 175 degrees Fahrenheit. Then it would take about forty minutes to cool.

"I can't stand going down to the coroner's office every day and begging someone, anyone to let me see Gran." Evie pressed a hand to her crinkled forehead, broke her whisking. "I'm driving Taffy crazy, calling her all the time, sobbing like I like I lost my binkie. She's doing everything she can. She even called Ren, for pity's sake."

Evie propped her elbows on the counter, begged her head to clear. She cried more often than Dylan played video games.

"Sweety," Jo moaned, hugging her.

"Taffy will get the body," Evie said, snuffling up the tears. If she didn't focus on whisking the milk, she'd burn the yogurt. "Taffy promised me. Money isn't an issue."

The harder Evie tried to repress the wails, the louder they got. Jo rubbed her back, ran her fingers through her hair.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. I wish I could say something. Make it easier for you."

If Evie couldn't pull herself together for twenty minutes, she'd ruin the batch and then she'd have a whole new reason to cry. How Gran would have screamed at her right now, acting like a twittering little idiot.

"Evie, I don't want you to go. No one here wants that. Even Mr. Anderson doesn't want that."

Evie's smile was genuinely bright. Mr. Anderson was the one neighbor who kept complaining about her rooster, Buck.

"It seems like yesterday that I was helping you move in."

And as suddenly as Evie's moods shifted, Jo's mind went to a dark place.