“There, now this has been dealt with, what shall we do next?”
I put my elbows on the table and dived into another inquisition. “Wait a minute. Tell me about the Fae. Andrew said he thought that pookas were part Fae. So can you warm up my coffee when it gets cold?”
Timothy groaned. “I love you a hundred thousand levels of fervency, but it is time to change the subject, my darling, and visit the waterfall, the cake decorating room, or the horse barn . . . or we could fly down to San Diego to see the zoo. You said you wanted to do that. Another possibility is that we could go get the cat you keep talking about but haven’t made the move to get yet. Which one of those?”
I considered for a moment. “If we got the cat, then we couldn’t go to the zoo. We’d be sitting around oohing and aahing about how cute the kitten was.”
“Probably true. So, is it to be the San Diego Zoo?”
That still seemed extravagant to me, but I nodded my head in agreement.
“Okay, let’s do it. We’ll go for a couple of days. I’ll see about getting tickets out of San Jose.”
“But if we fly, how will we get around? Are we going to use buses?”
“Scoot,” Timothy said, “or I’ll take you to San Diego without a single change of clothing, and then we’ll have to buy everything new.”
I saw that he meant it. Me, with a whole room full of Simone approved outfits. I scurried up the stairs without another word.
It wasn’t twenty minutes later when Timothy stood at my door, tapping the watch on his wrist. “We need to fly so we can fly,” he said, teasingly.
I picked up my bag, which he immediately took from me, and we headed downstairs, only to be met by Andrew.
“There’s a problem,” Andrew told us with a poker faced-wry look, but his stance looked rigid, and his hands were clenched like he was ready to either wring someone’s neck or punch him out.
We continued down the stairs. Timothy swung his arm around me and then motioned for Andrew to enter the living room. We all sat down stiffly, Timothy beside me on the dark brown, leather couch.
I hadn’t been in this room much. My eyes drifted about, even though I should have been studying Andrew to understand what the problem he’d mentioned was. The patterned Oriental rug with shades exactly matching the couch plus with some delightful cranberry highlights, looked classy and expensive. I wondered if it had ever been shampooed. Could someone shampoo an expensive rug?