The Westies lavished me with attention in the form of wet kisses and moist, cold nose rubs. One of them rolled over for a belly rub. “You must be Pepper,” I said, spotting a telltale black marking. Outside the window, the sky was steel gray and rain streaked the glass. Vicki had given me a nightgown at least three times too large and then had ceremoniously thrown my odorous, sooty T-shirt in the outdoor trash. What day of the week was it anyway? It took a moment to remember that it was Saturday. “I’ve got porridge cooking on the stove,” Vicki said when I made an appearance in the kitchen. She looked much fresher than I felt. “And I put the kettle on when I heard you stirring. You sure slept a long time, but I expect you needed it.” She placed two individual pots of tea next to place settings, then sunk down in one of the chairs. “The tea has been steeping long enough. Go on, sit.”
