Page 11 of Clean Slade
As I stirred in some sugar, an old Black man with white curls walked into the kitchen, scaring the bejesus out of me for the second time in a row.
The man laughed and sighed in relief. “I thought I left the stove on.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Sure. Thank you, young man. Are you a new guest? I don’t remember checking you in, but my memory has been unreliable lately.”
I took another cup from the shelf and prepared his cup.
“No. I’m just staying the night. I’m a friend of Slade’s,” I answered, feeling the words taste weird on my tongue.
“Well, in that case, let me remember my manners and introduce myself. I’m Gregory Rogers, the owner of Luna’s Lodge.”
I shook his hand before I passed him his tea.
“I’m King Moore. I run Furfection in town.”
I didn’t know if it was wise to share that much information, but it felt wrong to lie to the old man.
Mr. Rogers sat at the table and stared.
“That’s the dog groomer’s, right?” I nodded. “My wife used to take our Fifi to you.”
Fifi?
It sounded familiar. I tried to remember when I spotted one of the frames on the wall.
“Fifi! The bichon frisé? Of course. Mrs. Luna used to bring her in at least every couple of months. Where are they?”
Mr. Rogers turned to his tea and nodded his head. I couldn’t believe I’d never made the connection before.
“My Luna passed away last year. Fifi joined her not long after.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Well, that made me feel like an asshole. Shouldn’t I have known that?
Although, in my defense, I had so many pets come through my salon that it was impossible to keep track sometimes.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said, hugging my cup a little closer, appreciating its warmth.
“You didn’t. Don’t you worry, young man.”
Mr. Rogers stood with his tea and patted my shoulder.
“I’ll go back to bed now. I suggest you do the same. It’s terribly late,” he said.
I smiled and waited for him to clear the kitchen before I went out into the hallway and walked back to our room for the night.
I almost dropped my tea when I opened the door and found Slade on a rocking chair with Mac in his lap and a picture book in front of her.
Mac was fast asleep, hugging one of Slade’s stuffed animals tightly. If memory served me right, it was a Bulbasaur Pokémon.
Slade kept reading to her and only gave me a fleeting glance.
I still couldn’t believe a grown man had all these teddy bears. There was no surface of this room that wasn’t taken up by some sort of plushie.
