The Cauldron Read Online Free PDF Page B

yet,” she said, biting nervously at her lip. “I was returning your key.”
    “Oh.” Disappointment. Still, there was a sense of relief.
    She balanced on the threshold a moment, lips parted, staring sideways at the floor. “Carl, what happened last Sunday?”
    “Happened?” He shook his head. “Nothing happened.”
    “That’s exactly what I mean!” Shelly dropped her apartment key onto the bookcase just inside the door. It was still on the Rolls-Royce key ring he’d bought as a joke. Somewhere inside, he winced. She stared at a framed print on the top shelf, faux Egyptian papyrus with a scattering of hieroglyphics running around the edges and the sideways face of one of the gods. There was a mix of other Egyptian knickknacks in front of the books below it: a paperweight pyramid, a dog-headed man the height of a troll doll, and an ankh etched on a chunk of marble. “One minute we’re talking about getting married someday,” she went on, “and the next thing I know—”
    She blinked hard and set her hands against her hips. “The next you’re out the damn door! ‘So long, see you, I’ll give you a call!’ Thirty seconds after I said ‘wedding,’ you were just gone!”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Can’t we at least talk about it?”
    “I—” Stepping toward her, he bumped into the coffee table, almost knocking over the by-now-warm bottle of 7-Up. Hastily, he snatched it up. “Come in. Sit down. Please.”
    “Well, that’s something.” She crossed to the sofa and lowered herself onto it, watching him out of the corner of her eyes as he walked the few feet to the kitchen, set the bottle on the counter, and returned. Swallowing, not meeting her pale brown eyes directly, he folded himself into the matching chair set at an angle to the sofa. A flicker of anger hardened her normally soft features for a moment, but then she took a closer look at him. “You look awful. Are you all right?”
    “Sure, I’m fine.”
    “You don’t look fine.”
    Should he tell her about the nightmares? And if she mentioned them to her brother? One thing he definitely didn’t need was Mike Fowler’s opinion. About anything .
    A silence settled over them. From somewhere out on the street a car door slammed and a dog barked. A radio played, some bluesy tune, and then it cut to a deafening commercial and began to fade.
    “Have you been eating?” she asked finally.
    The constant question from every woman he’d ever known, starting with his mother: the first thing that entered their minds seemed to be an unquenchable urge to fatten him up. He shook his head, too late aware that it made him look angry. It was just that he didn’t want to be questioned.
    But this was Shelly !
    He managed a sheepish smile. “Sorry, it’s been a rough day. You want to go get a bite? Right now? Then maybe we can drive over to Creighton and see one of those old movies you’re always wanting to see.”
    “Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Tonight?” She grinned. “Do you know what’s on tonight?”
    “No. I haven’t checked the paper.”
    “ Three Smart Girls , that’s what! The first picture Deanna Durbin ever made! You couldn’t have picked a better night to give in.”
    A warm feeling, queasy but pleasant, took hold of him as he remembered their first encounter with the movie. It and some other movie from the thirties had been on the late show one weekend, and when he’d mentioned it to her he’d gotten a lecture on how good Durbin’s movies had been and a warning that there’d be dire consequences if he ever let her miss one again.
    “Your car or mine?” he asked, grinning as he saw she was already on her feet and heading for the door.
    “Better make it mine,” she said. Shelly pointed at the Egyptian print on the bookshelf. “What’s it say?”
    “Huh?”
    “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I keep forgetting. The hieroglyphs. What do they say? Do you know?”
    “Somebody told me once, probably where I