April 18, 2013
Day 18: Write a scene in a mansion.
I was sitting on the kitchen counter, doing my best impression of an arrogant, uncaring bad-ass, which was difficult considering the fact that I was digging into a bowl of Mrs. Brown's homemade strawberry ice cream. Pink ice cream with real, fresh strawberry bits just screamed girly, but it was it was just too good to pass up.
"How do you like it?" Mrs. Brown asked me from the kitchen sink. She was meticulously drying a champagne flute with a dish towel.
"It's divine," I commented through a spoonful. I could never understand how the wondrous confection called ice cream is made.The dollop of ice cream melted in my mouth, arresting it in a cool, swirling, sweet flavor with the perfect balance of creaminess and thickness.
Oh Lord, I have been watching too many cooking shows.
"Caitlin helped me make it," Mrs. Brown said without turning around. Even though I could not see her face, I could tell from her voice that she was smiling.
"Caitlin?" I echoed, scraping my spoon on the bottom of my bowl.
"Yes, your wife," she replied helpfully, as though I could have forgotten. I tried to ignore her patronizing tone. Mrs. Brown knew about Chantelle and I think she had a fair guess at my agreement with Caitlin about our entire marriage sham. I was sure she didn't approve of any of it.
Speaking of Caitlin, what was she up to?
She had slinked in the kitchen earlier, looking at the ground focusedly as though she was looking for something. She completely ignored Mrs. Brown and me and when Mrs. Brown had asked her what she was looking for, she rapidly answered with a nothing. I tried to ask her what she was doing but she simply waved me away.
At that moment, Caitlin appeared by the doorway.
She looked strangely worried, definitely out of her well contained and calm character. She was wringing her hands and biting her lower lip, nervous habits of hers which I had noted from out time together long ago I was alarmed immediatey. Something was wrong, surely.
"Caitlin!" Mrs. Brown called, "We were just talking about you! Xander said the ice cream was divine!"
"Oh, Mrs. Brown," Caitlin said modestly, in an even voice that was the exact contrast of her fidgety state, "It was all you!"
The older woman giggled. Caitlin turned her eyes on me. I immediately saw the desperation in them. What? I mouthed to her.
"Xander," she said under false calm, "I need to talk to you."
I pushed myself off from the stool and walked over to her in the doorway, but she gestured for me to follow her into the hall or rather the living room.
"What is it?" I asked, my forehead automatically creasing in a frown.
"I think I lost your mother cat," she said slowly,. letting the gravity of her words sink in.
My eyes widened in surprise. That was the least I had expected of her, and the situation would have had been funny, had it not been my mother's cat. We were toast if that cat disappeared.
"Where?" I asked her.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't have lost her."
"So, what do you want me to do?" I let on lazily.
"I need your help in looking for her. Truffles, I mean."
I ran a hand over my face and looked around the hallway. For the first time, our house seemed truly huge to me, unnecessarily huge. When looking for a cat, it was most often unwise to search in a mansion. Instead of stopping to complain, I stalked off and started looking, crawling everywhere to find the stupid cat.
