Mint jelly chilled in the refrigerator. New potatoes were seasoned to perfection. Baby peas swam in a creamy butter sauce. The wine was breathing. And none of it erased the noxious fumes coming from the guest room. Even with the door closed and the west-facing windows open, the house filled with the malodorous scent of fresh wet paint. The contractor assured me that despite the smell, they used a product that was non-toxic to pregnant women. It sure didn’t help settle my discriminating stomach. David would arrive in less than fifteen minutes. I slid the patio doors open in the family room and sucked in great gulps of the mild evening air blowing in off the Pacific. Surely this would help cut the odds that David and I would both suffer blinding headaches before the end of dinner. I frowned. Was it my imagination, or did I hear the low rumble of an automatic garage door opener? My eyes fluttered shut. This was so not what I needed to cap off what had been an otherwise pretty good day. Why was Johnny home?
