She was watching the rabbits hop around the new grass in the backyard. Early spring. It took her a few minutes to realize that she was leaning against the enamel sink, watching them through the kitchen window. She jerked away from it and looked for the wolf.
He was standing at the screen door, sniffing the air. He looked at her and pawed at the door. He obviously wanted out. She walked over towards the door, and staying as far as she physically could from him, leaned over and opened it for him. He trotted out.
She looked around. The water bowl was empty, and the ceiling ducts were gone. It was the same kitchen she had dreamed of before: gritty floor, old white cabinets, some of which had broken or missing handles. The old Formica table had chrome legs that were peeling in places and the
