Life at Gray Gables: Channeling a Writer- Day 14 (late)

Our word of the day is:

M I L K

I just wanted to go home. I wanted to feel sorry for myself. I wanted to feel like the victim.

I knew I couldn't, after all I was still alive. Clearly, my Sister had been the victim. The questions were now clouding my thoughts.

'Could Danny have killed Char?' 'Where was Danny?' 'Why is Danny not at the police station, grieving his dead wife?' 'Why has Danny not reached out to my Parents? They knew him, they knew him well back then.'

Something inside me crashed. It was as if a bell was sounding, something I had not even thought to address before now.

"Can you take me to my Parent's house?" I asked Mac. He did not even look up from the road. Somehow he knew me. He knew my crime scene processes and what roads to take next, as if we were completely in sync.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?"

I must not have realized it, but having all these pleasant thoughts about Mac, seeing him as a Man, for maybe the first time, made me have butterflies.

"Oh." I actually blushed. "Sorry about that. I was just thinking how crazy it is to have a Partner who knows your next steps before you even do."

With that, we pulled up in front of my Parents bright yellow Victorian. It was built in the early 1800's and they had spent their life and life savings rehabbing it.

I sat and looked at it from the patrol car. It was so clean and fresh looking, so happy and spring-like. To look up at it, as a grown woman, it looked like a perfect house, one that the family would have Sunday tea time and the world would be perfect inside it's very walls.

Mac opened my door and we headed up the bricked driveway that lead to the big, wrap around, southern style porch. The white wooden rocking chairs that I had played on with my sister as children still sat in their places, tall and proud to be a fixture on such a grand home. I ran my hand over the nearest ones arm rest as we went to the glass screen door.

"Mom, Dad, are you here?" I yelled as we entered. It was always kind of a silly statement because the front door stood wide opened.

"Yes, Dear, in the front parlor."

Mac looked at my, raising an eyebrow at that statement. "So, you grew up here?"

"Sure. You have been here before." I eyed him back questioningly.

My Mom was still so young looking. Her blonde hair, now dyed, sat high on her head in a younger, short do.

"And what do I owe this pleasure?" she said as she took Mac's hands in her own.

"Mom. I found out something and really want Dad here too."

"Dad is not dealing so well. He is out in the shed, but I can call for him."

I looked at Mac. This was the first I had heard of my Dad not dealing so well. After all this is the man who lacks emotions.

"I will go see if I can talk to him." Mac said as he headed out the back screen door.

"Honey, what is it? You can tell me. Do we really need your father present?"

I looked at her. Why wasn't she upset still? Wasn't she still grieving? She looked refreshed, young, well rested. She looked as if life had moved on and she was OK.

"Milk. I will get some Milk darling." she said as she left the parlor and headed into the big, french country kitchen. I followed like a lost puppy dog.

Mac and my Dad had joined us some time later, as my Mom was reiterating how she gets her garden to grow.

"Milk and cookies?" Mac said as he walked up to the dark, granite covered island.

"Mom and Dad, we found something that you are going to want to sit down for."

"OK." was all they both said, as they took a seat next to Mac. I stood up, wanting to see their faces, their reactions. (the cop in me)

It was time to lay it all out on the table...and I was nervous as hell.

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Good Morning everyone- as you can see, I am LATE! I was supposed to do this yesterday- not doing my challenge as I should be- but due to unforeseen circumstances, (basically I bruised my ribs from coughing and am in a lot of pain and working I ran out of time) I am here today to make it up. (double the work, I might add!)