Birthday Cake

A red house, then a green house with an apple tree in the back yard on the corner of Third and Main.

George continued our slow drive down the side streets. We were trying to find the house for sale. The realtor had told us to go to the corner of First Street and Second Avenue.

George’s head swiveled back and forth, checking house numbers, street names.

“I bet the house is just ahead. Brown house, blue door.”

Then there it was. A blue door on a brown house. George parked at the curb and we surveyed the surroundings. Nice homes, quiet street. No traffic.

“Where is Marie? She was to meet us here.” George checked his phone.

I walked up to the house, stopping just before the porch.

“Marie is tied up.”

“Literally or just busy?”

“Very funny. She’s running late. Nice house.” George smiled.

“I think we just found our new home,” I squeezed his arm.

Out the front door dashed a large woman, screaming, followed by an equally large man brandishing a butcher knife. She ran down the sidewalk, the man chasing her.

We stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. The front door stood open.

“Well?”

“Sure, why not.”

“But he had a knife.”

“I’m going in.”

“Someone could be dead inside.”

“All the more reason to go.”

Creeping inside, we didn’t see anyone. Just a dog cowering under a table.

And on the kitchen table, a cake, a birthday cake with candles lit.

We heard a noise from a cabinet, then opened it to find a little boy.

“Are they gone?”

“Um, yes.”

The boy gave a small laugh, a chuckle really.

“Good, more cake for me.”


W/C 284