Knock Three Times

20. The Marksman

                 CHRISTINE WOKE TO THE enticing aroma of steaming pancakes as the sun peeked through her bedroom curtains. Her stomach rumbled a she threw her housecoat over her shoulders and made her way to the kitchen, her unkempt ginger hair still askew from slumber. She hadn't even realized just how awake she truly was until she was half-way down the hall. It was not the sound of her alarm that had woken her that morning, but the smell of breakfast. Now that she thought of it, there wasn't a single fragment of any dreams she could recall. Had the gummies actually worked? It was the first night in weeks she hadn't woke in a cold sweat, and the calming sense of serenity suggested a full night's sleep, at last. She felt wonderful—better than she had felt in a long time.

    As she entered the room, Miranda was already sitting at the center island, working away at her blueberry pancakes while watching make-up tutorials on her cell phone. She twirled her long black hair, taking a quick pause to pull out a chair for her friend. The guest seemed humble—perhaps even happy fitting in well with the Davidson family. Christine didn't seem to mind in the slightest; in fact, she was overly delighted that her new surrogate sister was doing so much better in school, and taking her future seriously as of late.

    A plate of pancakes stylishly slid before her like a well executed curling move. The steaming cakes were topped with strawberries, drizzled with thick maple syrup, and heavily dusted with icing sugar. Josh Davidson smiled delightfully in his wife's overly feminine pink apron, complete with ruffles and all, the sight rather funny to behold given his usual masculine persona.

    'G'morning, my love. How'd you sleep?'

    'Okay, I guess.' she shrugged. 'Thanks Dad; this looks great. This, on the other hand,' she gestured to the pink ruffles. 'I'm not too sure about.'

    'Takes a secure man to wear pink. Mine is still covered in BBQ sauce from the ribs last week.' he shrugged.

    'Hey,' Miranda leaned toward her, showing a video on her phone, a dusted red eye shadow affect she was considering to match her costume for the Halloween dance that evening. 'You think that would suit my eyes okay?'

    It took her a moment to consider the unique look. Christine wasn't used to having gal pals—certainly no one beyond her mother to discuss such things as make-up or fashion. It pleased her to feel included, as she didn't really have any close friends until now.

    'Yeah, I think that might work for you.' she answered honestly. 'Hey, you think you can maybe do my make-up too, before the boys come to pick us up tonight?'

    'Yeah, sure; I'll find something in blue to match your costume.'

    'Thanks.' she nodded appreciatively as she stuffed a forkful of pancakes in her mouth, then reached for a napkin and caught a drizzle of syrup from her lip before it dripped onto her pajamas.

    'The boys huh?' Josh overheard the conversation as he began cleaning up the mess from breakfast. 'Sounds like you two are getting a little comfortable—not too comfortable I hope?'

    'Nothing to worry about, Daddeh.' Christine grinned playfully. 'Miranda's known them both for years. You'd probably like them, actually; they're good guys.'

    'That's true.' she agreed, mouth half full. 'I can vouch for them, Mr. D. Though I'm not entirely sure my judgement is valid in this case.'

    'Please, call me Josh. "Mister" is far too formal when wearing pajamas in the kitchen.' he insisted. 'And your judgement will always be valid, at least until you've given me reason to doubt. Milk?' He offered them both a glass, waving the carton before them.