Page 65 of Make a Scene

Retta made a polite cough and said under her breath, “Your shoes. Take off your shoes.”

Duncan looked down. Retta had removed hers and Ms. Edie was wearing house slippers.

“Shi—” he said, catching himself before he swore. “My bad.”

He removed his sneakers right there and walked them back to the front area. So the first impression was a bust.

They sat down at a small dining room table as Ms. Edie placed a cold looking dish of spaghetti in the center.

“Let me reheat this in the oven,” Retta said as she headed to the kitchen with the ceramic.

Duncan smiled at Ms. Edie who responded with an assessing look.

“Where did you meet?” the older woman asked, sipping something from a mug.

“He and his business partner opened a boxing gym next door to the bakery,” Retta said from the kitchen.

“Do you love her?” Ms. Edie asked.

Duncan almost choked on the frankly bitter lemonade she’d served. “I-I—”

“Granny, please stop harassing him,” Retta said as she returned to her seat.

“It was just a question.”

Thankfully, the conversation during dinner was much lighter. Once they were done, Ms. Edie showed him around.

“There’s a bathroom down here, so no need to come up and down those creaky stairs at night,” the older woman said.

Duncan eyed the phone booth sized shower. He’d have to clean one half of his body at a time. “Looks perfect.”

“As I said, I only have one other bed in this house so, you’ll have to sleep on the couch, Duncan.”

He made eye contact with Retta who mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

This was shaping up to be as cozy as the time he regrettably went camping with one of his friends in high school.

“My toaster oven, blender, and crockpot are off-limits to you,” Ms. Edie said, pointing to him.

“The toaster, really?” Retta said. “What would you have him do? Starve?”

“If that would keep him from touching my appliances, sure.”

Duncan was delightfully taken aback at the old woman’s words.

“She’s joking,” Retta said, turning to him.

“No, I would’ve laughed otherwise,” Ms. Edie said as they walked into the living room.

They all studied the dark green sofa that, to its credit, looked incredibly plush. But there was no way his feet weren’t hanging off the edge.

“Your back is going to kill you,” Ms. Edie said matter-of-factly. She provided no alternative solution or consoling gesture.

“Again, the walls are thin, the stairs are creaky, so please don’t try anything. I like my eight hours,” the woman said.

They left him downstairs, and he got ready for bed, trying not to disturb anything in the bathroom too much. Once Duncan settled into his couch for the night, he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that someone was watching him. It wasn’t until he sat up and flicked on the lamp near him that he found Ms. Edie’s cat perched on the settee on the other side of the living room.

He tried a few times to shoo the feline away, but she sat there watching him. Eventually, he grew tired of staring down the cat, and he accepted the possibility he might wake up in a pool of his own blood.