Shu-shaaa.

Soft as a snake burrowing in the crevices of her mind.

“No,” she said, slamming the cabinet closed. She had heard nothing. Because Gloomies weren’t real.

Especially not this one, the strange sibilant phrase that chilled her bones and carried doom as if it were a typhoid wind.

Even when Robert pulled into the driveway ten minutes later, Tamara still hadn't shaken the sense of foreboding.

Happy, happy thoughts. For the kids. For him. For herself.

“You look like you had a rough day,” she said as Robert elbowed through the door, arms loaded with radio copy, cassette tapes, and damp manila envelopes.

“Hundred percent chance,” Robert said. He leaned forward to kiss her. “But the sun’s breaking through the clouds.”

Happy thoughts indeed. “Hmmm. Another kiss like that, and I could get a sunburn.”

He winked. “Later, when it’s dark.”

“Is that your forecast?”

“No, honey, that is a guarantee.” He dumped his work onto the sofa and sat down. He was already lost in Robertville, studying some advertising circulars.

Tamara knocked on the table. “Hello? Aren’t you going to ask about my day?”

“Yeah. Can you believe it? Hardware store wants to do a special campaign for Blossomfest.” He hummed an uneven jingle then said in his radio voice, “‘Spring has sprung and Windshake is blooming, time for scrubbing, mopping, and brooming.’ Catchy, huh?”

“My day was fine. I proved that ESP doesn’t exist.”

“Huh?”

“My husband can’t read my mind because he can’t even read my lips.”

“Sorry.” Robert put his papers away, went to her, and massaged her neck. “I’d be afraid to read your mind. But I can read your body like a book. Every single page.” He rubbed lower then stopped when Kevin came into the room with a load of firewood.