Boxes had been the main fixture of the living room until mid afternoon and now the place looked livable. Pug admired the tidy glass and metallic fixtures, the soft touches of colorful pillows and flickering candles in pastel jars. Wyatt joined him from the garage, sweeping his arm about as he said, “One room is ready to be lived in at least.”
“I’m impressed,” Pug told him. He underlined his verdict with a slap of his palm to Wyatt’s.
“I saw someone outside earlier as I was dumping the boxes at the curb,” Wyatt said. “He reminded me of that old college flame of yours…just from a distance. If it’s him, he did well by himself. He’s driving a Lexus now.”
Pug grunted and stuffed his hands into his back pockets. “That was a long time ago, Wyatt.”
“I know. I’m not worried. Just pointing things out.” Wyatt managed a nervous giggle. “Just a funny coincidence. Strange how things happen sometimes…the world’s a strange place…stranger than fiction.”
“You should write about that then, instead of all that science fiction stuff you keep sending off to the magazines. Write about what it’s like to be a side of sauerkraut in a world full of applesauce. We’ve had enough drama to fill a dozen magazines.”
“Too…close to the bone, Atticus.”
Pug gave a quick nod and then climbed the stairs. He paused in the middle and called back down to Wyatt, “Peter would have said the same thing.”
“He’s the one who made you hide,” Wyatt said.
He busied himself by smoothing and tucking the throws and pillows around the room. Upstairs, he heard Pug travel back towards the bedroom that perched over the garage. He sighed and turned to the stairs himself.
Pug sat on the windowsill, scanning the neighborhood. He spotted the cars gathered near the open house. He saw the neatly dressed couples, men and women, hand in hand, strolling up and down the walkway. The women stopped to admire the flowers. The men surveyed the open garage.
Wyatt saw Pug straighten and lean to one side, squinting. He came to rest beside his companion just as the man he’d seen earlier strode out of the open house, a sharply dressed woman in his wake. The two stopped beside the Lexus and shook hands. The lady passed him a business card.
Pug hung his head and folded his arms.
“Cheer up,” Wyatt suggested. “Maybe he’s stalking you and we can get an order for protection, keep him away…if you want to, that is.”
Pug stood and turned his back on the window, bringing Wyatt into an embrace. “Live and let live, pork chop. That’s my motto. Life is revenge enough for anyone.”
