Chapter 3: So You Go
On waking as the sun rippled through the blinds, Toaster found herself wrapped in a yellow blanket, with the heating dial resting against her neck.
"Oh. Oh, Blanky," she exclaimed, sitting up. So she hadn't been dreaming.
The dial remained faceless, but his cries echoed in her ears.
"Oh, Blanky," she said, stroking the top of the dial. "I know this must be difficult for you." She glanced over the edge of the bed, not surprised to find both a desktop lamp and an old- fashioned radio on the bedside table. "This is strange for me, too," she admitted.
They remained motionless, but she had known them for so long that she could feel their gazes, and knew they were listening to every word.
"You shouldn't be in here," she admonished. "What if the Master and Mistress catch you in here? And, Blanky, you're supposed to look after the little master." She tried to be gentle as she scolded. "I'm okay, guys. Really. The hearing aids are going to find a way to change me back. You guys don't have to check up on me, alright? Now, come on, let's put you back." She dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday, trying to take her time to get them right.
"I'll be fine," she repeated, gathering them up in her arms. She opened her door a crack to peer out. Finding no one, she slowly made her way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, hesitating in front of the closed door. She had never been in the master's bedroom during the day. She could hear the little master singing downstairs, but there was no sounds to let her know where the Master and the Mistress were. Suppose she intruded…?
Clutching her friends tightly, she took hold of the door knob and turned it slowly. The door brushed against the carpet while she held her breath and peeked inside. The curtains on the window across from her had been drawn aside, though the shutters were still closed, casting only slivers of light against the bed. The Master lay fast asleep in bed, the blankets drawn up to his waist and his casted arm resting on his chest. The Mistress was nowhere in sight.
Taking the opportunity presented, Toaster tiptoed into the room. The carpet muffled her steps, but she feared even breathing would wake her Master. She carefully set down the radio and lamp on his dresser, lingering to pat both of them.
"I'll find Kirby, too," she promised in a whisper. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."
At her side, the Master sighed deeply in his sleep. Toaster went still, hoping feverishly that he wouldn't wake up. After a few seconds of waiting in silence, she turned her head to look at him. He had barely moved, though his face had turned towards her in his sleep. Toaster's heart bled at the pain creased on his face. Hugging Blanky, she shuffled closer to the bed's edge to peer closer at him.
Her poor master. Toaster shook her head, trembling as memories of the accident crossed before her eyes. It had been terrible for her; it must have been ten times worse for him, she realized, looking at his cast. Unable to help herself, she stretched out a hand to touch his cheek.
"Rob? Are you up?" Toaster jerked her hand back as the door to the room swept open. Not quickly enough, she realized, as the Mistress stared at her.
"Thea?" The Mistress quickly lowered her voice. "What are you doing in here?"
"I was, uh…" Toaster hurried to the door, heart beating uncomfortably. Making up excuses was exhausting. "Looking around?"
Wrong answer, guessing by the way the Mistress' eyes flashed at her. Toaster flinched as the Mistress grabbed her shoulder to pull her out of the room.
"Oh? Is that so?" The Mistress resumed a normal tone as she closed the door firmly and planted herself between it and toaster.
"It's a very nice… bedroom?" Toaster tried to sound casual, but somehow the question mark ended up at the end of the sentence anyway.
"Right. And the downstairs is even nicer." The Mistress gestured firmly towards the staircase with her hand.
"Oh.I..." Why was she so upset? "I didn't mean to…" Toaster's explanation was cut off as the Mistress suddenly seized a corner of Blanky.
"Hey, here's Robbie's blanket! How did you get it?"
"Hm? Oh!" Toaster relinquished Blanky. "It was outside the door this morning."
"That's odd." The Mistress inspected the electric blanket closely. "Robbie never drops it anywhere." Toaster could hear the accusation loud and clear, though she couldn't find a way to respond. She ended up looking down at her feet, unable to stand that scolding look any longer.
She moved only when the Mistress pushed past her. "Oh, well. Weirder things have happened. He'll be glad to see it anyway. Did you sleep well?" she asked, flatly, as she headed down the stairs.
"Yes, I did," Toaster answered, hurrying to keep up. "Beds feel much nicer than I imagined."
"You sound like you never slept in one."
"Well…" Toaster paused at the top of the stairs. "Not exactly," she added in an undertone.
The Mistress either didn't hear her or simply didn't care to answer. Toaster heard the little master squeal in delight, and found him hugging blanky when she stepped off the stairs.
"Hi, little ma…robbie." She caught herself quickly as she leaned over him. The little master's eyes sparkled, and he stretched up both arms towards her. Toaster eagerly picked him up.
"Oof! You're heavier than I thought!" she exclaimed, smiling at his beaming face. With Blanky held tightly in one arm, he used his free hand to pat her nose.
"Toah-toah-stuw."
"Shh!" Toaster pressed her forehead against his. "I know you know, but you can't tell anyone, alright?"
"Can't tell anyone what?" The Mistress reappeared from the kitchen with the little master's puppy sippy cup in hand. Toaster flinched, expecting yet another look, but the Mistress only handed the little master his juice without glancing at her.
"That…I'm hungry," she replied, watching the little master drink with gusto. As proof, her stomach suddenly rumbled, alerting both her and the Mistress to its need.
"Oh. Yeah. Well, help yourself to anything in the kitchen." The Mistress took Robbie as he held out his arms to her. "We just came back from a trip, so I haven't had any time to grocery shop."
"Thank you." Toaster lingered, however, to watch the Mistress settle the little master with his sippy cup and his toys.
"Something up?" the Mistress finally asked, catching her eye.
"Um, I just wondered if you knew what caused the accident?" It had suddenly occurred to Toaster that the more she could tell Ratso, the more he'd be able to explain to the hearing aids.
And, really, she was dying to piece everything together.
The Mistress shrugged. "Well, I don't really know that much. I wasn't actually there when it happened. From what everyone else has said, the van hit something in the road and blew out both front tires. Rob lost control of the steering wheel, and the whole thing ended up in the ditch. The tow truck guys think something was up with the engine...but, anyway, then you showed up and pulled him out of the wreck." The Mistress blinked at her. "Um...What exactly do you remember?"
"Me?" Toaster's mouth went dry. She dropped her eyes to the little master, wishing that she had a blanket to cuddle with just then. "I don't…I don't really remember anything. One minute I was…" A Toaster. "…And the next I was there in the hospital."
The Mistress' lips set in a hard line. "Right. That's what they said at the hospital, too. Look, don't worry about it." She sighed and smoothed her hair back. "The roads in this area are full of crap and junkies. Maybe Rob just hit some trash or something. He's never been good with cars. I am. I like driving. I should have been driving." Her voice dropped with that last sentence, sounding strained. Toaster found herself twisting the hem of the blouse uncomfortably.
The phone rang and broke the Mistress' reverie. "Look, I'd love to sit around and talk, but I've got some calls to make. And I have to check on my husband. If you're hungry, like I said, help yourself. Damn it, I still need to call about the van…" She answered the phone without so much as another look at Toaster.
Glad to be free from the conversation, Toaster quickly slipped into the kitchen.
"Well, well, well, look who finally woke up." Ratso greeted her, chomping away on his pellets.
"it's not that late," Toaster protested, glancing at the clock over the doorway. But her attention focused on the wide range of cabinents and drawers before her, each holding their treats. She began to open them all, one by one, to study what they contained. A funny eagerness took over her as she ran her hand over the organized boxes and containers. There was the familiar loaf of bread with the butter knife nearby, waiting for the Master's daily repast (poor things; did they miss her…?) and there were the cereals the Mistress enjoyed in the morning.
But even with her stomach complaining loudly and twisting her insides, she couldn't make up her mind. What exactly did someone like her eat-enjoy, rather-for a morning meal?
"Milk's in still in the fridge," Ratso said, as though reading her dilemma. "I don't think it's soured, or else the mistress would have tossed it away when she was digging through there."
Milk, milk…Toaster's hand suddenly passed over a box of pancake mix between the raisin flakes and corn pops. She recalled the way the cakes sizzled in their greased pan and the sight of golden syrup drizzling down on them. Suddenly her mouth watered.
Just what did pancakes taste like?
Smiling to herself, she pulled the box down and headed for the fridge to pull out the milk. She looked the cartoon over, fingers tapping against it as she tried to remember how the mistress made them. A bowl of course, and a wooden spoon were what she needed, and a pan and the container of vegetable oil…
"Uh, Toaster? Whatch doin there?" Ratso had stopped eating to watch her arrange things on the counter.
"I'm going to make pancakes!" Toaster announced, proudly opening the pancake mix.
"You sure that's a good idea? I mean, maybe working with the stove ain't a great way to get started as a human."
"I'm sure it'll be alright," Toaster reassured him. She was too enthusiastic to stop herself now. Besides, it was another experience.
It was a disaster. She tried to hold the box steady to pour and ended up spilling the contents everywhere. The milk met with the same fate, splattering her clothes and shoes as she tried to aim its stream into the bowl. Mixing it together proved more difficult than she imagined. Her human hands slipped as she dug the spoon into the lumpy mess, and she ended up couching on the puffs that rose from the bowl each time.
"Don't stir so hard. You ain't mixing cement. Add some more milk…geez, leave some for the pan, would ya?" Ratso's quick tips and woeful advice didn't improve her efforts.
Her stomach had gone from growling to gnawing fiercely at her insides. She finally gave up trying to smooth out the batter and just hoped that cooking would help it along.
"Ratso, how much vegetable oil do I use?" she asked, pushing her floured hair out of her eyes as she picked up the bottle.
"Well, geez, how should I know? I can never see anything way over here?"
"I'll just guess then," Toaster decided, wishing she'd paid closer attention when the Mistress cooked. She set the pan on the closest burner and carefully, with both hands, managed to pour just a dollop of the oil into it.
"Whew!" she exclaimed, rubbing her belly with one hand. It groaned loudly.
"Just a moment," she reassured it, reaching out to turn on the burner. "If you'll just be patient, I'll feed you something sweet really soon."
"Carefull…carefully…" Ratso cautioned, as she began to spoon the mix into the pan.
Apparently, Toaster had no definition for the word 'carefully'. Within the two seconds of pouring out the batter into the sizzling oul, the entire pan began to smoke.
"Uh oh, Ratso, help!" She clapped her hands to her ears as the fire alarm shrilled. The little master's screams matched it from the living room, and the ceiling began to shake as feet stamped down on it from the second floor.
"What's going on?" The Mistress rushed into the kitchen so fast that all Toaster saw was her dark hair sweeping around. She was shoved out of the way as the Mistress threw a towel over the pan's handle and shoved it, smoking mess and all, into the sink. For a few minutes, she stood gasping, and Toaster, grateful when the fire alarm finally shut off, watched as her eyes took in the entire mess of the kitchen.
For the first time, Toaster actually knew what she had done to earn that look.
Muttering under her breath, the Mistress stormed past to the broom closet and seized a mop and bucket.
"I can help," Toaster offered, however weakly.
"No, it's fine. I got this. Just like I got everything else." The Mistress shoved the mop against the counter and fished around in a drawer. "Here, you'll have to eat this." She pushed a pop tart into Toaster's hands. "It'll be a while before I buy anything else."
Sitting cautiously at the table, Toaster carefully tore the cellophane wrapping and bit off a corner. The mouthful was dry and crumbly, like watered sand. But Toaster swallowed every bite, willing herself not to complain as she watched the Mistress mutter and clean the mess with a violent fury.
Toaster had never felt so useless before.
The morning ticked by, and Toaster found herself with little to do. She knew the house well, and was eager to explore secrets she'd dreamed about from her counter top. But since the kitchen incident, she struggled to keep out of the Mistress' way. It was a feat within itself, since the woman seemed to be everywhere at once, cleaning, tending the little master, answering the phone.
The Master finally meandered downstairs around lunch to rest on the couch and watch TV. He looked wan, with dark circles under his eyes, though he offered her a smile with his greeting. Despite that, he moved restlessly as his wife ran back and forth.
"I rebooked all the appointments I could," the Mistress snapped at him at one point, when he glanced at his watch. "I just cancelled the others."
"Chris, you can't just cancel…"
"It's not like we have a choice! You can't exactly do anything with that arm!"
"I can still see my patients."
"On pain meds? Rob, don't be stupid!"
The fight made Toaster uneasy, and she slipped into the kitchen. Ratso was peering through the cage, trying to see into the living room. She tried to talk with him, but conversation was difficult with the Mistress stomping back and forth.
"Look, Chris, I'll call the others myself."
"Fine by me!"
The TV clicked off as Rob headed for his study, and the Mistress snatched up the little master before grabbing her purse.
"There's no food in the house. I've got to go to town." The door slammed.
Within minutes the house was completely still. Toaster stood in the living room, listening to the click of the clock.
"Geez," Ratso whistled. "They were really going at it this time!"
"it was my fault," Toaster said, quietly, feeling the tension in her shoulders. "I shouldn't have tried to cook anything on my own."
"Aw."Ratso's grin was surprisingly sympathetic. "I don't think all of that was your fault. You, ah," he averted his eyes and rubbed his arms, "you see the others yet?
"Yes." Toaster ran a finger over the back of a chair. "And they've seen me."
"Oh, boy."
"Were they upset?
"Is the Empire State Building in New York?"
"That's a yes, I take it." She laid her head against the doorway, wishing she could talk to them.
When the house was this quiet, she and her friends would move about freely. As it was, Toaster suddenly realized that her presence made it difficult for her friends to break that rule. She brushed away the funny feeling that caught in her throat.
"Look, Ratso," she said, straightening up. "I need to go somewhere else. Just for a little while."
"Why not try outside?" Ratso suggested, glancing out the window behind him. "It looks nice and sunny out there."
"Yeah." That encouraged her. "Yeah, I'll go outside! I've never really seen the yard before."
Resolute, she headed for the front door and flung it wide open before she could change her mind.
Hot, fresh July air greeted her. She drew in a breath before she realized she wanted to, and smiled at the warmth that settled around her. Suddenly eager, she snatched up the sneakers and socks that had been set neatly by the coat closet and stepped out onto the porch.
Yes, this was better, she decided, as she struggled to pull on the socks and sneakers. She rarely ever had a chance to go outside during the day. Not that she had often longed for it; that journey across country to the city had settled her craving for any outside needs. The body enclosed around her reveled in the experience of open space. The grass that crinkled under the sneakers seemed fresher, the sun warmer, than any of it had ever felt against her chrome. She could even ignore the nagging reminder that indoors her friends had gathered and were probably watching her from the window. She willed herself not to look, and instead focused on the vast space in front of her.
Every experience. She reminded herself. Take note of everything.
So she explored. She didn't go further than the vet clinic sign, but she inspected every mound and rock she found. She'd only just begun walking back to the pathway to see the backyard when the backdoor screen open and slammed. Hurrying to the fence, she caught sight of the Master making his way to the barn nearby. A sudden curiosity pierced her. She had never been in the surgery while the master was working. She followed after him.
The Master had been restructuring the barn to serve as a clinic. She remembered the plans he and the mistress had spent evenings pouring over, and knew that only half of them had been completed as of yet. Even now, slipping inside the front door, she could see where improvements still needed to be made in the waiting area. However, she was awed by the work the Master had done already. The room smelled clean, nearly like the hospital. But cozier; inviting.
Like the Master.
"Ouch! Damn it!" Light poured out of a nearby room through a half-opened door. Toaster could hear the Master muttering to himself as he walked around. She peeked around the door.
The Master was bent over a box, rustling for something Toaster couldn't see.
"You okay?" she asked, startled herself when he yelped again.
"Oh," he exclaimed, rubbing the sling. "Hi, Thea. Yeah, I'm fine. Just trying to find something. Did you need something?" He returned to the box.
Toaster shook her head, though her eyes darted around the room. The Master had always been well organized.
"Ah ha! Found it!" Toaster turned her gaze back to the vet again as he wielded a case of syringes. "I wasn't able to unpack this box before we left for vacation."
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Toaster asked, uncertain.
The Master flashed a weak grin in her direction, like a child who had been caught with a cookie he'd snatched.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just that Mrs. Landing will be here with her cat." He sighed. "I know Chris wanted me to I cancel, but I just can't do that."
"No, you can't," Toaster exclaimed, understanding. "You can't just not help someone."
"That's exactly what I told her. She's just…I don't know. Still upset by the accident perhaps." He ran his hand through his hair, standing it up on end. Then he paused, as though he remembered who he was talking to. "Ah, never mind. Um, could you set that box on the table over there?"
Glad to be helpful, Toaster picked up the box. She pushed back one corner to examine the instruments, marveling at them. Having spent so much time in the clinic at the university, she had watched with rapt attention every movement her master had made with the animals; the way he handled them, charted them, saw to their every ache and pain. She never realized how much she missed watching him work.
"May I watch?" she blurted out before realizing it. "Please? I've always wanted-" she stopped short of saying that she had always wanted to watch him work in his new clinic "-To see how veterinarians look after animals."
"Well..." The Master blinked at her, but smiled warmly even in his confusion. He gestured to a chair nearby. "Sure. Why not? I guess you could hang around if you wanted."
"Oh, thank you!" She hopped onto the chair, watching his every move once again.
The Master continued preparations, sending nervous grins her way every so often. But soon he was explaining each movement he made, and answering her questions without hesitation. By the time his elderly client arrived, carrying her tabby in a wicker basket, the Master was ready, and Toaster's head swam with new information. She was half out of the chair when the Master greeted his patients and instructed Mrs. Landing to place her cat on the exam table.
"Now, what's wrong with Petunia?" he asked, scratching the cat between the ears.
Toaster watched the cat sympathetically while Mrs. Landing listed each and one of Petunia's ailments. She cringed when the Master prepared a syringe.
"Don't worry, Petunia. We'll just give you a little medicine, and you'll soon feel better."
As though knowing exactly what to expect, the cat struggled and meowed pitifully. Toaster clasped her hands over her ears, unable to bear its pain.
"Easy, now, Petunia. Easy—whoa!" the Master exclaimed, as the cat unleased her claws to take a swing at him.
"Hey!" Toaster was on her feet before either he or Mrs. Landings could react, catching the cat as leapt from the table. "Don't do that! You could hurt someone!"
The cat shook as Toaster cuddled her. "He's just trying to help. Don't you want to feel better?" The cat meowed again, even more pitifully than before as it laid its head on her arm.
Toaster's disdain faded into sympathy. "Poor thing," she crooned, brushing her hand over its head. The fur felt like silk under her palm. "You must feel dreadful."
The cat seemed to understand that something was different with the new human. She relaxed under Toaster's caressing fingers, purring.
"Wow." The Master admired. "Looks like you've got a way with animals."
"She just doesn't feel well," Toaster replied softly. "I feel sorry for her."
The Master seized the opportunity. "Do you think you could hold her on the exam table while I give her the shot?"
"Sure." Toaster gently eased the cat down, hugging her as she squirmed and meowed again.
"There, there," she murmured, using the same voice that often comforted Blanky. It worked; Petunia, still tense, gentled under Toaster's touch. Swiftly, the Master administered the medicine and gave Mrs. Landings instructions for Petunia's care. Toaster lifted Petunia into the basket, stroking the ears one last time.
"Thank you, Dr. Rob." Mrs. Landings beamed at Toaster. "And thank you for being so sweet with her."
"Thank you for the help," the Master added, as the door closed behind his client. "I wouldn't have been able to handle that case alone."
Toaster warmed under his praise. "I always like feeling useful," she replied. "And I think animals are nice," she added, as warm memories from the college lab rose before her mind. Maisy and her babies…Alberto, Sebastian.
What would they would think if they saw her now?
The Master had finished disposing of the syringe needle. "Well, that's my only appointment for the day. For a while, I guess," she heard him add in an undertone. "A broken veterinarian. That's not something you see every day."
Toaster couldn't stand seeing him so forlorn. "Your arm will heal. And you'll be just fine. You're a good veterinarian."
The Master stirred himself. "Six weeks. I guess we'll see." He smiled at her. "Now, how does dinner sound?"
The smell of garlic met Toaster at the door as she stepped inside the house. She took a deep breath, thrilled with the pungent smell. Even the Mistress' terse greeting when Toaster and the Master walked into the kitchen together didn't distract her from the meal cooking.
"Mm, spaghetti." The Master attempted to kiss his wife, but the Mistress turned just in time for the kiss to land on her cheek. Even Toaster couldn't miss the disappointment in her his face. Following his gesture, she sat down at the table and accepted the plate he offered her.
"No garlic toast?" he asked, tickling the little master under the chin as he passed the highchair.
"No toaster," the Mistress snapped, placing the pot of spaghetti on the table with a thud.
"Sorry," Toaster said without thinking, listening to that strange guilt that settled in her gut.
"Why should you be sorry?" That look of hers was becoming too common. Toaster shook her head, and followed her Master's example in carefully filling her plate with spaghetti and salad. The first bite slid off her fork, though she caught the Master's grin as he pointedly demonstrated twirling his fork in the noodles. It took a few times before she could finally lift the noodles to her mouth, but oh, was it worth that first bite.
Dinner continued in some silence, except for the little Master dunking his face in the sauce and trying to push his plate off his tray.
"The auto shop called," the Mistress announced, when the mess had been prevented. "Looks like the repairs to the van are going to be more than we expected."
The Master winced. "How much more?"
"Well, say, the price of a new van." The Mistress jammed her fork into her plate.
"You've got to be kidding me." The Master pressed his hand to his forehead.
"We can keep the rental car for a few more weeks. But, after that, it will have to be the bus." The Mistress examined her salad with a frown. "Not like either of us will be going anywhere."
"We'll make it," the Master reassured her. "That's what savings are for."
"Ours will be stretched to the max before this is over." Toaster had a mouthful of spaghetti before she realized the Mistress was looking directly at her. Was she blaming her again? But, what had she done this time? She glanced at the Master, and saw him looking at her as well, though with an apologetic expression.
"Thea was a big help in the surgery today," he declared.
"Was she?" Toaster cringed under the icy tone. "Well, that's encouraging. It's good to know that someone around here is taking care of you."
"Chris…"
"Rob, you promised to cancel that appointment."
"I couldn't just cancel. I have patients that need me."
"You'll always have patients who need you. But you have to take care of yourself, too."
"Chris, please." The Master made an odd move with his shoulder towards Toaster.
"Hm?" Toaster blinked at him. "Oh! Should I leave?" She looked back and forth between the two humans, almost wishing they would say yes. She couldn't bear another argument between them.
The Mistress heaved a deep sigh as she pushed back her chair. "No, Thea, you can stay. I'll leave." She shot a frustrated look at her husband before tugging the little master from his highchair.
The Master sighed before pushing back his own chair and dropping his napkin on his plate.
"Excuse me, Thea." He followed after the Mistress.
Toaster pushed her plate aside and buried her head in her hands.
"Well, that went well." Ratso broke the silence of the kitchen.
"I don't understand, Ratso," Toaster said, feeling her head ache. "I keep upsetting the Mistress somehow. What am I doing wrong?"
"Beats me. I don't think I've ever seen the Mistress that mad before." Ratso scratched his head. "I mean, she's short-tempered, but not like this. Probably something to do with losing that van"
"The poor van." Toaster twirled her fork in the remains of her dinner. "I'm going to miss her."
"Yeah, well, that's life. How's this human thing going for you?"
"I'm…not sure," Toaster admitted. "Sometimes I think I'm getting the hang of it. Other times, though." She fell silent as snatches of conversation floated from the living room.
"Rob, this is ridiculous! She can't stay here!"
"She doesn't have anywhere to go."
"She's mental! I caught her in our room this morning, and she tried to burn down the kitchen! Good grief, she wouldn't even touch the shower last night!"
"She passed the pysch exam. She's just suffering from the trauma…"
Toaster stared miserably at the plate. This was not going so well at all.
"Have the hearing aids found anything?" she asked, picking at the salad. The doorbell rang, breaking up the fight.
"They're just starting to make their calculations. Boy, I've never seen them so stumped before. You should have heard them go on and on about Einstein and improbability factors." Ratso's laugh was too loud to be genuine. Toaster could see the pity in his eyes.
She crunched on the salad, not sure if she liked the flavor of lettuce. "I wish i could speak to them…"
"Don't sweat it! That's what I'm here for. Any sign of Kirby yet?"
"No. I haven't seen him anywhere. I haven't asked…"
"Yes, I live here!" The voice thundered through the entire house. Toaster's fork clattered to the floor. "I've lived here as long as you have!"
"But I don't, I don't understand, sir…" The Master's voice faltered.
Releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Toaster dashed from the table into the living room. the Master and the Mistress stood at the front door, speaking to a short police officer and a tall, broad shouldered man. The stranger's mouth was set in a thin firm line, further accented by a bushy mustache, as he glared with all the ferocity of…
"Kirby!" Toaster exclaimed, throwing her hands up to her face in astonishment.
All eyes turned to her, startled from her cry. But Toaster only watched the stranger's eyes narrow at her, bringing his bushy eyebrows together. To her relief, understanding dawned over his face as he took a step towards her, his hands outstretched.
"Toaster?"