Ch 5 Doorbells
The doorbell had rung more times in the last few months (I honestly couldn't tell you how long it had been, it was all kind of a blur) than I could count. Each time Tara or Sam, sometimes Holly or Arlene, my friends from my old job at Sam's bar and grill, where I met Bill, or even my brother Jason, had been there to answer it. This time it rang, and rang, and rang, and no one came. I had stopped keeping track of who was in the house and who wasn't - or more accurately, stopped caring. Curled up in my corner of the kitchen, I tried several times to make my underused voice call out for Tara or Sam. Finally, to shut the damn thing up, I just hollered, "come in!" I heard the door open tentatively, and I heard hesitant footsteps in the hall. Since I really didn't care who it was, I went back to counting the cracks in the kitchen tile. I was convinced I could get an accurate total at some point if I just stayed there long enough. I heard the footsteps come closer, and I looked up to see a pair of black lace up military-style boots and blue jeans. The I looked up, and up some more. My Southern manners, ingrained still, kicked in and I croaked, "May I help you?" The blond blur at the top said, "I'm looking for Bill."