Until Sadie - Sarah Curtis Page 0,4

his opportunity when he lost her eyes, a spark of anger returning to them as they landed on her brother. “I have to get back to work. But you better show up tonight. No excuses.”

It was then Dean noticed what she wore. How he’d missed the brightly patterned scrubs, he had no idea. His only excuse was he’d been too captivated by her face. She filled out the baggy attire nicely, but he got the best view of all when she spun on her heel and marched away. She had a damn fine ass.

She stopped suddenly, pivoting. “It was nice meeting you, Dean.”

It wasn’t until she got in her car and drove away that it felt as though a fog had lifted and clear thinking once again resumed.

He stepped closer to Ray. “What was that all about?”

Ray shook his head. “Sadie can be a little…” he paused as if searching for the right word, “overzealous when it comes to our mother.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, not that I blame her. Mom’s never been quite right,” he tapped a finger to his temple, “since our dad died seven years ago. Sadie’s constantly riding my ass to go over and visit.”

“Maybe you should.”

Ray stared at his feet, kicking a stone with the toe of his boot before turning his attention out toward the street. “Done some things I’m not proud of. I’ve distanced myself.”

Curiosity had him wanting to ask what but felt he hadn’t known Ray long enough to pry. He did feel comfortable enough to share, “Still, it seems like she wants you to visit. I wouldn’t waste an opportunity like that.”

Ray remained silent, and Dean took a step back to be on his way.

Ray’s words halted him. “You wanna come with? She might not be all there,” his finger tapped his temple again, “But she’s still a damn good cook. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

Too fucking long, Dean thought. He tipped his chin. “Yeah, okay.”

He played it cool but inside he was grinning like the Cheshire fucking Cat. Because all he could think about was that he might get to see Sadie again.

After work, Dean followed Ray to a house that, while not rundown, was in need of repair. Age faded its once vibrant blue paint and sagged the roof shingles. The front lawn was mostly brown, which one would expect in the middle of summer, but its upkeep was also lacking, evidenced by the abundance of weeds in the mostly wilted flower planters and cracks of the sidewalk and driveway.

Dean parked along the curb, kicked down the stand on his bike, and shut off the engine. As soon as Ray did the same, quiet descended on the neighborhood. Dean scanned the block. Not a soul in sight. Older residents, he surmised, their kids grown and moved away. It was a neighborhood waiting for the next wave of young homeowners to come through to start the cycle all over again.

Ray entered the house without knocking but shouted his presence. Dean, on his heels, stepped inside, shutting the front door behind him.

The inside was as tired as the out. Yellowed wallpaper—its seams buckling and peeling—covered the living room walls. A brown sofa with concave cushions sat against one wall with a dark-cherrywood end table next to it. A matching coffee table was planted in front of the couch, its feet digging into the shaggy, green carpeting. A large entertainment center filled the opposite wall and held an outdated, boxy TV, a stereo with speakers, and a DVD player. The rest of the shelves held a collection of movies. A sliding glass door with its heavy, floral-print draperies pulled open took up the back wall, letting in the last of the sunlight—light that did the small room no favors.

The otherwise drab room was cheered by the smells coming from the kitchen—a mixture of meat and garlic that made his stomach rumble when he got his first whiff. If the food was even half as good as it smelled, Dean knew he was in for a rare treat. He’d been living on fast-food and basic crap he could cook for so long, his stomach might not know what hit it.

“Ray! I’m so glad you could make it.”

A rail-thin woman appeared from out of a doorway, wiping her hands on a plain, white apron that was tied around her waist, emphasizing how tiny it was. But it wasn’t just her waist that was small. Her arms