I sit in the sitting room with my legs tucked under me, a throw blanket wrapped around me and my k****e propped on the arm of the chair. Last weekend was quiet. I didn’t see much of Holt and Elyria. Isolde and I had movie night on Saturday and Sunday. Three Men and a Little Lady, per Isolde’s request. I suggested To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything on Sunday night. It was honestly nice. They didn’t bring up what happened Friday, but I could see that Isolde wanted to. I’m glad they didn’t. I still feel some kind of way about it all, but it’s not as bad.
I still cannot think of the next book I want to read as I scroll through the k****e store. I finally decided to just reread a book that I had in my library already when footsteps echo across the foyer. Voices follow—one familiar, one not.
M
