I cleaned and scrubbed the top landing of the stairs, the foyer, hall, and kitchen floor, erasing all the dirt and mud from the carpet and hardwood.
I swept leaves out the front and back doors before the Lindermans pulled into the driveway twenty minutes later, both of them apologizing profusely for their lateness.
“It was nothing,” I said, thankfully surprised that Dylan and Christie were still asleep when their parents arrived home still dressed as 1920s detective sleuths. “An uneventful evening of trick or treating,” I added. “Except Dylan may have eaten more than he should have.”
I told the Lindermans about Dylan’s stomachache incident and vomiting. And the broken potted porch plant, citing the wind as the culprit.
As for Dylan…
“He’s always been compulsive,” Mrs. Linderman chimed
