“I’m dressed like this so I don’t catch your plague. I’ve got to watch your kids this week and the last thing we need is for my little angels to get sick too.”
Jude couldn’t help but want to be one of Kaye’s little angels.
“This suit was left over after Truman painted my bedroom. I figured this was the perfect time to wear it. I’ll slip it off on your stoop and will leave it on the living room floor. Genius, right?”
“Genius,” Ronan agreed, sounding as if he thought the idea was anything but.
Kaye clapped her hands together and surveyed the room. “What the hell happened in here?” She skirted the table, her eyes on the destroyed packet of soup.
“We, uh, had an accident,” Ronan said, sounding as if he’d lost his best friend.
“Care to be more specific?” Kaye grabbed the dustpan and broom. She started sweeping up the scattered noodles.
“Ronan wanted the soup but it was mine. We had a tug of war and we both lost.” Jude sank his head into his hands. If this were a story someone told him, he’d be laughing his ass off. Right now, Jude felt doomed. And nauseous.
“Two grown men fought over soup?” Kaye asked, sounding as if she thought Jude was pulling her leg.
“I’ve got the video to prove it.” Fitzgibbon held up his phone.
Kaye’s phone dinged with the incoming video. She clicked the button and Jude and Ronan’s angry voices filled the kitchen. “You’re best friends. Friends don’t act like this, boys.”
Jude felt lower than an earthworm with a tax bill. “Please don’t be mad, Kaye, we’re just sick.”
“Our husbands abandoned us and our kids don’t care if we live or die,” Ronan wailed. “You’re our only hope.”
“I should send you both to bed with no supper.” Kaye crossed her arms over her chest.
“We could share chicken and stars, right?” Jude asked, getting up from the table to wrap his arms around Kaye.
“The only stars you’re getting is if I smack you in the head. Now sit down.” Kaye moved back from Jude and pointed to the table.
“I’d like to remind the room that I didn’t have a mother growing up. No one ever made me chicken and stars.” Jude’s bottom lip trembled. He tried to take a deep breath, but started to cough instead.
Kaye’s hand fluttered to her heart. “Would anyone else like chicken and stars?”
Ronan and Kevin’s hands went up.
Sighing, Kaye went to the pantry and came back with three cans of soup. Jude watched as she opened and then dumped them into a pan, along with the requisite amount of water. When the stove was turned on, she grabbed bowls from the cupboard and spoons from the drawer. “Why didn’t you call me earlier, I would have made you a pot of homemade chicken soup.”
“Ten said he’d have food sent over, but they decided not to get takeout for dinner,” Jude said.
“Which meant we were on our own,” Kevin added.
“And feral.” Ronan offered a smile.
“I can see that.” Kaye went to the refrigerator and pulled open the doors. She held up a pack of deli cheese. “Do you want grilled cheese sandwiches to go along with the soup?”
Each of the detectives nodded. Jude’s gaze drifted around the table. His friends looked like they could sleep for a month and still wake up tired. Jude was bone-weary, as if he’d spent the day doing some kind of heavy labor, when in fact all he’d done was walk across the street and plop on Ronan’s sofa. “I’m glad we did this,” he said.
“Did what?” Ronan asked. “Have a tug of war over soup?”
Jude shook his head. “I’m glad we’re quarantining together. I don’t want the kids to catch this and feel as miserable as we do.” Lizbet had caught a cold just after Halloween and it broke Jude’s heart to hear his little girl coughing and to watch her sitting listlessly on the sofa watching her favorite movie without her laughing or trying to sing along. He’d take being sick every time if it meant sparing his kids.
“Agreed,” Fitz said and coughed into his elbow.
“Soup’s on,” Kaye said. She brought the steaming bowls to the table along with the sandwiches, which were cut in half.
“What, no kitty corner?” Ronan asked. “My mom always cut my sandwiches diagonally.”
