CHAPTER FIVE HUNDRED AND NINETY-SEVEN
Saturday morning — 10:10 a.m.
“Hey,” Nash said, coming into the laundry room.
“Hey,” Heather said, looking up from a basket full of folded clean clothing.
Heather turned and pulled a load of towels out of the washer and shoved it into the gas dryer.
“What’s up?” Heather asked, when Nash hadn’t said anything.
“I was looking for you,” Nash said.
“You have found me,” Heather said, turning on the dryer.
“I thought Valerie ran the laundry when she was home,” Nash said.
“She and Mike had a doctor’s appointment this morning,” Heather said. “I thought I’d get in here and work through some of the bigger loads so she’d have less to do.”
Heather gestured to what looked like a load of toddler clothing. Each piece of clothing had some kind of spill on it.
“Can I help?” Nash asked.
“Sure,” Heather said. “Grab a garment. Check the spill and…”
“Yeah, I know the drill — dab or soak or brush but never ever wipe or scrub or you push the stain into the fibers,” Nash said.
Heather grinned at the young man. They worked in silence until the basket was about half full.
“Did you bring your laundry?” Heather asked.
“Maresol does it,” Nash said. “I think.”
“You think Maresol does it?” Heather asked with a grin. “Or Maresol does it?”
“It’s weird,” Nash said. “I take off my dirty clothing, put it in a pile ready to carry to the laundry, and it disappears. Then it shows up clean. I know that Sandy’s not doing it. Dad’s certainly not.”
“Your Dad does a lot of laundry,” Heather said in mild reproach.
“Dad folds things weird,” Nash said. “And anyway, some of my clothes are ironed. The rule is always, ‘If you want it ironed, do it yourself.’”
“What?” Nash asked.
“Ava loves to iron,” Heather said. “They’ve been working on a tough case. She’s probably up late ironing.”
Nash grinned at Heather.
“Good to know,” Nash said, grinning.
“Dale loves to iron too,” Heather said. “He and Ava have ironing contests.”
“Oh, Dale. Yeah, that makes more sense,” Nash said. “Ava’s been in Grand Junction.”
There was a shuffling sound and a grunt. Buster, the ugly dog, arrived in the doorway trailing Blane.
“Buster!” Nash yelled and dropped to his knees.
The next moments were filled with boy giggles and dog slobber. Blane gestured to Buster and Nash.
“Mystery solved,” Blane said, gesturing to Nash and Buster. “He started running in this direction at East High!”
“True love.” Heather grinned. “He’s really missed the kids.”
Blane pointed upstairs, and Heather nodded. He jogged up the stairs. Heather kept working on the toddler clothing while Nash and Buster caught up. When Nash stood up, he was grinning from ear to ear. Heather chuckled. They settled in to work on the toddlers clothing.
“Did you want to talk to me about something?” Heather asked.
Denver Cereal continues tomorrow…
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