Upstairs

She shoved him in the chest and turned, wanting to swing the knife at more than just the vegetables. A typical, arrogant Yankee fan. "I'll call when dinner's ready. Until then, I hope you'll be upstairs."

His laughter echoed throughout the kitchen. Chills returned to her when he was gone. Carina reorganized his breathing as he began to walk up the stairs, and the dog remained still.

She ran into the living room, turned on the baseball game, turned the volume up, and went into the back room to check on the dogs.

The knitted bed sheet was torn to pieces.

She removed it from the black labrador's teeth and tucked it into the bottom desk drawer. The sheets were dirty, so she cleaned them up, spread out fresh papers, and stacked a few more on the couch and chair just in case. She refilled the water bowls and figured they all had to go out for another hour before bed.

She closed the door, rushed into the kitchen, and finished dinner while shouting commentary to her players.

Eric went down to