Firefly Nights. Cynthia Thomason
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“Hello.”
“It’s Virgil. Just wanted you to know I got the phone turned on in unit six so you can reach Kitty when you need her. Here’s the number...”
Campbell scribbled it down on a pad, though he wasn’t likely to use it. He was a long way from admitting that he needed anyone.
“I DON’T LIKE HIM,” Adam called from the shower where he was supposed to be scrubbing the tiles with the contents of an old can of Comet.
Kitty fluttered a clean sheet over a newly laundered mattress pad. She breathed deeply, grateful the linens smelled as promised on the bottle—mountain fresh. “Why don’t you like him?”
“He’s grouchy.”
“A little, maybe.” She tucked the ends of the sheet between the mattress and box spring. “But mostly I think he’s sad.”
Adam’s disparaging snort was amplified by the tile walls. “What’s he got to be sad about? He’s got a satellite dish.”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s something more than the plane crash. Although that would be enough.”
Adam popped out of the bathroom. “He should have our problems. Then he’d have a reason to mope.”
“Be patient. We should all try to get along for the time we have to be here.”
Adam frowned at his mildew-stained sponge. “Yeah. I guess there’s no escape from Motel Psycho, is there?” He gave Kitty a ghoulish look and made stabbing gestures with his free hand. “Just be careful when you take a shower, Mom.”
“Never mind,” she said, genuinely smiling for the first time that day. “If you’re done in there, come help make the beds.”
When they were finished, Adam left for Campbell’s place to see if Wanda had stocked potato chips. Kitty sat on the worn but fresh spread and picked up the telephone. A dial tone! Things were definitely looking up even if her contact with the outside world was an antiquated gold princess phone. She punched in Bette’s number and nearly cried with relief when her mother’s cousin answered.
“You’re going to need some money,” Bette said after hearing about Kitty’s plight. “I can send you a check.”
Kitty had known she could count on her relative, but it was reassuring to hear that trust in Bette’s words.
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