Chapter 15I plopped down in front of the flat-screen TV on Randy and Constance's brown, red, and blue plaid couch with a big bowl of microwave popcorn. It was going on eight, and since there wasn't anything on I wanted to watch, I'd popped in a DVD. Things outside were quiet, which was typical for a November night in the sticks. The girls, Tera and Jena, had been good, and ate all of their spaghetti and meatballs, to which I owed Mr. Newman a lot of credit because confidence in making anything from scratch was far beyond my culinary forte.
Absently, I threw some fluffy white kernels on the floor for Dante, who snapped them up with his tongue as though he were starving to death, and then looked expectantly up at me for more. He had wolfed down his share of spaghetti earlier, and didn't com
