“Sounds good.” I shooed him out of myroom.
It took me a whole lot of struggling to get dressed but I managed it somehow. I swiped on some lip gloss, mascara and blush and called Hank to bring mycrutches.
Instead he came in the room, swept me up in his arms, and carried meout.
“You look beautiful,” hesaid.
A blush crept up my cheeks. “That’s awfully polite of you tosay.”
He let out a huff of laughter. “I mean it. Even high andinjured.”
He helped me sit in the recliner and brought me a blanket for my legs. I’d put on a dress just to make it easier on myself, but I waschilly.
Hank brought me a cup of cocoa and my heart melted a little bit. “Did you make this?” I asked inawe.
He pressed his lips together. “I had a very idyllic, yet feminist childhood. My mother taught me to cook at a very youngage.”
“Your mother sounds like a wonderfulwoman.”
“She is,” he said. Just as he was about to lean down, the doorbellrang.
“You ready for this?” he askedme.
I gave him a manic smile. “Not even a littlebit.”
“Me neither,” he agreed and headed to the frontdoor.
Portia was quitea bit different than I expected. She was short, had wild blonde, curly hair, and curves for days. She looked like a mix between someone’s sweet southern grandma and a pageant queen. I liked herimmediately.
She brushed into the house like it was hers, took a sniff and asked Hank for a cup of hot chocolate. How she’d known he’d made some, I had no idea. As soon as she spotted me, she came over, grabbed both of my hands and clucked insympathy.
“You poor dear! How are youfeeling?”
“Much better,” I lied. I felt like I’d been hit by a semi truck with a grudge and then it came back around for a victory lap and hit meagain.
“You’ve had quite a trying week, haven’tyou?”
I wasn’t quite sure how much she knew or how I should answer that. She patted me on the knee. “You don’t have to answerthat.”
Hank came back into the living room with a cup of hot chocolate, and I took a moment to marvel at the weirdness that was my life right now. Everything had been totally fine until I’d gotten that damn letter on mydoorstep.
Margo who had been outside chasing who knows what scratched at the door. As soon as Hank handed Portia the mug, he went back to let Margo in and the puppy scrambled her way over to Portia. Disaster was just about to strike because hot chocolate and puppies don’t mix when Portia said, “sit”. And Margo did. Just likethat.
Hank and I exchangedglances.
“Good,Argos.”
“Argos?” Iquestioned.
Portia grinned. “Yes. Well, a resurrected Argos if youwill.”
Hank sucked in a surprised breath. She glanced up at him. “Ah, I see you’ve connected thedots.”
“How in the world?” Hankmarveled.
“Helen is a necromancer, Hank. Of all people, she would understand this. Argos is my dog. Well,wasmy dog. He has been with me through the ages. Before me, he was with my very good friendOdysseus.”
I swallowed hard. “No.Way.”
