As a family arrangement went, Rachel Durshin was pretty damn grateful for it.
When she got to the corner of Stoepel and Evergreen, she’d text Hank.
Then Hank would take Melanie and Cobain for a walk.
Cobain was the best dog ever, and Rachel was pretty fond of her daughter Melanie, too, but at four years old Melanie was nonstop questions when Mommy got home from work.
So the rest of the family would walk while Mommy showered off the grit of Ashton Abrasives, decompressed, cracked a Rock n Rye and was ready to answer her bright, inquisitive kid and pet her dog.
The house could have been a library when Rachel walked in, heavy, peaceful silence. She undressed in the basement so that she didn’t get any work grime in the living area, half-jogged upstairs nude.
She paused in the hallway, looking at a collage of pictures Hank made, with some recent additions from the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.
Rachel kissed a picture of her daughter wearing some novelty shamrock glasses.
Pretty cool, Rach, she whispered, Pretty cool little family, adding a little giggle when she realized it was out loud.
The shower head was acting tricky, sputtering, might be the valve itself. Hank said if you turned it on and off once the shower usually worked fine.
It’s not a computer, Hank, Rachel was thinking as she turned the much craved hot water off , then started to twist it back on when she heard the scream.
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