Page 16 of Caged in Desire
“Not what shedid.Howwasshe?”
Brow furrowed, she continues. “As I said, she was fine, sir. I do think she was a bit lonely, and she really didn’t enjoy shopping or have much interest in that, although she had a marvelous time ordering swimsuits. Overall, she had a peaceful week, I should think.”
“Alright, Potts. Thank you.”
Leaving her in the kitchen to no doubt finish making my breakfast, I make my way to my study to read my paper. I’m just finishing a droll article on the history of the local golf course when I hear the door open.
“Thank you, Potts, I appreciate…” Pink-painted toenails appear in my line of sight below my paper as my breakfast tray is placed on the table, and I lift my head to find my wife, not Mrs. Potts.
“You’re not Mrs. Potts,” I observe astutely.
A small laugh is my reward for my dry humor, and I relish it.
“No, not Mrs. Potts.Mrs. Sinclair,” she says with a smirk. “Or Kat, as I’ve tried to insist.”
“I’ll stick to Katarina since you insist,” I tease back, enjoying her smile and resolving to be responsible for it more often, before blurting out a question. “Where is Potts? Why did you bring me breakfast?”
Her smile falls, and I know I was curt. I wasn’t trying to be cold, I’m…I don’t know what I am.Confused.I don’t mind her presence; in fact, I quite enjoy it, but nobody but Potts ever brings my breakfast. She’s truly got me on my back foot.
“I’m sorry. I suggested to Potts that I bring it in so we could read the paper together, and I think there’s an article on page eight you’ll find amusing, about the…”
“Golf course,” we finish my sentence together, and I place my paper down to give her my full attention. “I apologize, I didn’t mean…Well, it’s not in my nature to…”
I don’t really have an excuse this time, so I opt for the truth and a plea.
“I don’t have an excuse for being short with you. Please feel welcome to stay and read the paper and have breakfast with me. I know I gave you the same reason on Monday at the pool, but it’s still true that I am adjusting to having you here, just as you’re adjusting to being here. I promise to continue to try not to be a complete ass.” My sheepish smile and self-deprecation seem to work as she laughs, pulling over a chair to sit closer to the table while leaving me plenty of room.
“I forgive you, Mr. Sinclair, unlike the patrons of the golf course and the concession company.Can you imagine?” she asks, pulling the silver dome off two plates of eggs and a third plate with fruit.
“A generational feud over acheese sandwich? No, I certainly cannot imagine…”
Our discussion continues as we eat and read our papers, and for the first time in recent memory, I’m late to work.
“Well, I agree, but I do think the beavers have a right to build their damsomewhere. We can’t just continue to relocate the beavers every ten years. How can they pass their homestead down to their children…what’s wrong?” Katarina asks, as I stare at my plate.
She’s right about the beavers, and her shrewd opinions about the news of the day have become more and more apparent as we’ve shared more breakfasts over the past few days.
“Are these different eggs?” I ask. The texture is perfectly creamy, reminding me of my boarding school days. The refectory always had the perfect eggs, and I’ve not wanted to offend Potts by telling her that hers were never up to snuff.
Looking up, I see a slight blush on my wife’s cheeks.
“Well, yes. They are different,” she says, fully blushing now. “I thought I noticed the last few days that you never finish your eggs. I asked Potts if you even like eggs, and she said yes, you’ve always liked them, ever since boarding school.”
I continue to stare as she speeds up her explanation.
“And then I thought that perhaps the boarding school eggs were special in some way, so I decided to just call, easy enough…”
“You called my boarding school?”
“Yes.”
“In England.”
“Well, hopefully so.”
Ignoring her cheek, I continue my line of questioning.
“To ask about their eggs, and if they do anything special to them?”
