Words With Fiends by Ali Brandon Page B

day looking like hamburger.”
    â€œHmm, good point on the wine. If I decide to get Botoxed, I’ll give the doc a breathalyzer test first. Now, let’s get back to Hamlet. Have you thought about getting a kitten for him to buddy up with?”
    â€œA kitten?” Darla gave a doubtful frown. “I’m sure Brody would have suggested that already if he’d thought it would work. And you know Hamlet. It’s hard enough to get him to play nice with the customers. I can’t see him sharing the place with another cat.”
    â€œMaybe a change of scenery, then. Find a pet-friendly place down the shore. It’s off-season, so you could get something cheap for a long weekend.”
    â€œHey, now that’s not a bad idea,” Darla eagerly agreed. “I know that the farthest Hamlet has ever traveled has been to the vet’s office. Forget that whole atonement thing. A whiff of salt air might just snap him out of his funk.”
    She paused while the waitress served their steaming plates of pad Thai and then added, “I’ll talk to Brody about it when he stops in next week for the follow-up visit. If he thinks it’s worth a shot, I’ll start looking for a weekend rental. And if you find Mrs. Putin in time, maybe you can take off work and come along with us.”
    â€œSure, it might be fun,” the older woman agreed. “Not that we’ll get in any swimming this time of year, but we could do the big-pot-of-clam-chowder and bonfire-on-the-beach thing at night. And during the day, Hamlet can lounge inside on the windowsill and watch the little birdies skittering around on the beach.”
    â€œIt’s a plan,” Darla agreed, feeling far more cheerful now than when she’d first walked into the restaurant. In fact, both she and Hamlet would likely benefit from a little getaway. She hadn’t had a vacation since she’d moved up to New York, and life had been more than a little crazy—not to mention terrifying, at times—in the interim.
    And if Jake’s idea didn’t work? Then she’d just have to wait around for the whole shaking Universe thing that Brody had talked about . . . and hope that he didn’t mean a literal earthquake.

FIVE
    â€œYELLOW BELT, HERE I COME,” ROBERT DECLARED, punctuating those words with a
“hi-yaa”
and a leaping front kick that drew a halfhearted smile from Darla.
    She and Robert were on their way to the dojo, gear bags bouncing against their hips as they hurried to make their eleven o’clock appointment. They weren’t the only ones out and about. The sun was shining on this crisp Sunday morning, and locals bundled in scarves and light jackets wandered the sidewalks in search of coffee or brunch. Darla was dressed even more casually than the people they passed, having donned a well-worn green velour track suit and a white down vest for the short walk. Normally, she would have opted for something that didn’t make her look like a 1980s throwback, but this morning fashion was the least of her worries.
    Noting Darla’s lack of enthusiasm, the teen slowed and asked, “Are you, like, nervous about the test or something?”
    â€œNo, not a bit,” Darla promptly lied.
    Robert nodded. “I’m not either,” he agreed, only to confess in the next breath, “Well, maybe, you know, a little.
    Darla definitely felt his pain. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the katas they’d be tested on, she reminded herself. She had those kicking and punching routines down pat. Rather, she was suffering from the same stage fright that, years earlier, had left her frozen on the splintered stage of the Sam Houston elementary school, unable to remember the words to the prelude of
Evangeline
.
    Darla grimaced at the decades-old memory. With a proud smile for her teacher, Mrs. Morgan, she had skipped onto the stage that day prepared to recite her poem as her part