How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
Except on rare occasions, one day lasts no more than 24 hours. [3]
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Just one block north of Louie's Bookstore & Café, a throng of unfed cats was swarming around the edge of Ril Park's bed. It was the same bed that Bob Juet had shared with Ril the afternoon before.
"Which one of you loves me the best?" she said.
Without hesitating, she picked up a black cat with white feet and held it securely on her lap. When the cat squirmed, she pressed firmly on its back to make sure it stayed where she knew it needed to be. Then she opened a slim notebook and said, "Since you're my favorite, I'll read you what I wrote in my diary. This is for yesterday."
As she lifted her head to speak, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror opposite the bed. Despite the dreadfully early hour and a night that was most definitely restless, she thought she looked pretty good. Youthful even. But that was no real surprise because Ril Park was one of those people who could pass for almost any age within a generous twenty-year span. Like most individuals whose age is so imprecisely defined, she could only imagine herself on the greener half of that scale. In Ril's case, the range covered the early-twenties to the mid-forties. Although she was actually well-past the midpoint of that range, her girlish voice and unusually smooth skin were enough evidence to convince her otherwise. One look in a mirror and she could almost always fool herself into believing that she looked just a bit beyond the age of consent.
The black and white cat struggled acrobatically to get away. It twisted its body into what looked like the kind of knot that sailors use to tie a boat to a dock. Arms, legs, and tail were intertwined so completely that it seemed impossible to untangle them. At that point, the white bib on the cat's chest appeared to be on its back while its head was turned completely upside down. Despite all the cat's efforts to escape, Ril held firm.
Just before beginning to read her diary aloud, Ril tasted the foul breath of a night that had gone on too long. "Monster mouth," she said to herself. But it wasn't the smell that made her angry. Although that smell was clearly emanating from her mouth, she directed her anger at her husband instead. At best, the connection was strained. That sour smell was simply a reminder of too many late nights topped off by too many one-sided arguments with her husband. None of which provided any answers. Or any solution to any problem anywhere on the face of the Earth. The only tangible result was a foul-smelling mouth that no one would want to kiss. And no matter how difficult the previous night had been, Ril always wanted to start each new day with a kiss.
Mornings were lonely times for her.
But seriously, was this really so much to ask? It was just a single kiss, after all. But her husband, Edward Starling Prindle, was the worst kind of man. He was the kind who was too meek to fight and too weak to remember the reasons that had caused the fight in the first place.
