He had come in, the house was dark, empty, still. Where were the children?
Sopping wet on the wood floor, squishing across the hallway into the dining room. His umbrella was still in his hand, much good it did him. He could barely make out the garage door when he turned into the driveway. Still he could hear, like a ringing in his ears, the insistent drum of the rain against the roof.
Where were the children?
Rain off his chin, “Hello? Jonathan? Caitlin?”
Not even Molly, his ex wife’s german shepherd, with her lame leg and half bitten ear. He used kick the dog when the neighbor’s weren’t looking. Now, over the years, particularly this summer he had grown attached to the mongrel, almost found her regal. From the dining room he could see into the pantry where they had set her bowl, full and untouched.
Where were the children?
Often driving home through the seasonal thundertorms that ripped through Newport he thought of her, her ability to turn from lover to ghoul in an instant.