Lyrical Logic

I had a whole plan of what I was going to say. But that has kinda just gone out the window. It seems as though my nervous system has decided to take my life hostage and is demanding the healing that it has desperately needed.

For the next few months, I’ll likely be sharing random scenes that I’ve written. I’ve been writing scenes for the last two months trying to get the story out of my head. They aren’t currently in any sort of order. I don’t know if I’ll ever put them in any sort of order. But, here is a sample of one of the scenes. I hope you enjoy it.

Cheryl Miller had a mother’s intuition. But she also knew Lydia Vance. She stepped into the office on Saturday afternoon and sure enough, Lydia was at her desk. She was engrossed in something, she wasn’t paying attention. Cheryl walked to her doorway, and knocked gently. 

Lydia jumped. 

“Cheryl, what are you doing here on a Saturday?” Lydia asked. 

“Oh, I forgot my reading glasses and couldn’t find my spare at home,” Cheryl lied. “But since you’re here, I just wanted to let you know that my son, Will, was coming home for dinner tomorrow. There will be so much food and he always says we drone on and on about ‘old people things’ and he would love it if someone under forty-five was there to chat with him.” 

Lydia stared at Cheryl. Cheryl knew it was a risk to invite her over this early, but maybe Will could help get her out of her shell. 

“Uh, tomorrow?” Lydia asked. 

“Yep,” Cheryl responded. “Come anytime after 5:30. I’m making lasagna. It’s my grandmother’s recipe from Italy, it’s pure perfection.” Cheryl smiled. 

“If not, I’ll see you on Monday,” Cheryl said as she turned and left. 

In her car, Cheryl let out a sigh of relief. She had hoped Lydia was in the office, but she hated that she was there on a Saturday. Hopefully she had given her enough time to process the invitation. Hopefully she came. 

She started the car and headed home. Don’t smother her, Cheryl thought. Maybe the invite was too soon, but if she doesn’t come, that’s okay. 

~~~ 

At home Saturday night, Lydia paced in her apartment. 

“I can’t possibly go over there,” she said. “I’m technically her boss! Or what if she’s trying to set me up with her son? No, she’s not doing that, she knows I just got the divorce decree.” 

She looked at Sonny, he was just staring at her. He looked at her like he could not be less interested in what she had to say. 

“But what if I go? What if it’s fine? Authentic Italian lasagna? I can’t turn that down Sonny.” 

Meow. Meow. Meow. Sonny chirped at her. He wanted her to sit down. He wanted to bite her hair. 

“It isn’t always about you, you know,” Lydia said as she sat on the couch, giving into the cat’s pleas. 

She turned the TV on, and she put Reba on again. Sonny stopped biting her hair and just sat on the back of the couch behind her head. Lydia sighed. 

“What am I going to do Sonny?” she asked. “I don’t want to intrude. But she said I didn’t have to come.” 

Meow. Sonny replied. 

Lydia sighed. “Fine, I’ll go,” she muttered. “But if it goes badly I’m forcing you to snuggle all night.” 

Sonny started to purr. She reached back and ran a hand down him. He was her anchor. He would be here when she got back. He couldn’t leave her. How else would he eat? 

~~~

At the Millers, Cheryl was busy working on setting up the sauce for the lasagna tomorrow. Her grandmother had taught her that the earlier you start the sauce, the better. But you couldn’t start it more than 20 hours until you needed it. Otherwise it was too much. 

Cheryl chopped onions and garlic with a rhythm that told Bob that she was worrying about something. He was in the living room watching a baseball game but when the chopping started he sighed. He shut off the TV and he went into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her waist and put his chin on her shoulder. 

“What are you worrying about Mrs. Miller?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” she lied. 

“Cheryl Ann,” Bob responded. “You’re chopping the onion and garlic like they hurt you personally. Something is bothering you.” 

Cheryl put the knife down and sighed. 

“I invited her to dinner,” she said. 

“Who?” 

“Lydia,” Cheryl admitted. “When I went to the store, I stopped by the office. She was there. I invited her to dinner.” 

Bob sighed. “It’s too soon,” he said. 

“I know,” Cheryl said. “But she was there, distracting herself, alone. I couldn’t just not invite her.” 

“She’s not going to come, Cher. She will see it as you feeling sorry for her.” 

“No, I told her we bored Will and he could use the buffer,” Cheryl said. 

Bob laughed. “Okay, way to use the kid as bait,” he said. “But she’s not going to come. And when she doesn’t, you can’t let it ruin the night.” 

Cheryl knew he was right. “I won’t,” she lied. She would worry if Lydia didn’t come. 

Bob walked around the island so she could see him. He stood with his arms crossed and the look on his face told her he knew she was lying. 

“Okay, fine. I will try not to let it ruin the night. But you should have seen her Bob, you would have invited her too,” Cheryl said. 

She picked the knife back up and went back to chopping. “Now, can you start the sausage? I want to make sure the sauce is on long enough,” she said. 

Bob walked back around the counter and kissed the back of her head. “I’m on it babe,” he said. He went to the fridge and got the sausage out. Part of him hoped Lydia came tomorrow, but he knew she wouldn’t.