Page 59 of The Witching Hours

As we were getting back into bed, he said, “They’re not coming back tonight, are they?”

“No promises. But their pattern is not two visits in a single day.” I watched as he went to his closet to retrieve the bat he used for weekend softball. He leaned it against his nightstand and crawled in next to me. “I want to snuggle, but it was bad judgment on your part to get hurt on the wrong side.”

“I can fix that,” he said as he got up, walked around the bed to my side and said, “Move over.”

I giggled with the relief of a woman who’d seen her marriage flash before her face and scooted away. After nestling into his good side, I said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not throwing me out and saying how dare I marry you with this baggage.”

He sighed. “I get that you thought it was over and they weren’t coming back. But if I’m honest, if you’d told me, I might’ve found it hard to believe. And that would’ve created distance between us. Might’ve even ended us. Things happen the way they should. We’re in this together. Your challenges are my challenges.”

In the darkness, I blinked and felt a tear run out of my eye and onto the pillow. “Thank you,” I repeated.

“Stop saying that. You don’t have to thank me for accepting what you come with. I’m all in for the worse and the better.”

I hadn’t expected to go back to sleep, but when I opened my eyes to daylight coming through the shades, I concluded that I’d done just that. I was alone. Not just in bed, but in the apartment. I’d slept through Nick’s alarm and, bless him, he didn’t wake me.

After buzzing through morning chores, I placed a call to my old high school.

“Hey. I’m an alum. My name is Catherine Campbell and I’m looking for Mr. Caras who taught English Lit about ten years ago. Is he still teaching there?”

“Yes and no. He’s on staff, but he’s been temporarily called up by the National Guard. We have a sub covering for him.”

“Oh. Do you, um, know how I could reach him?”

“We have his personal information, of course, but I can’t give it out. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I understand. But wait. Before you hang up. Could you at least please tell me his first name?”

“Sure. It’s Mike.”

“Short for Michael?

She laughed softly. “I imagine so, but I’ll check. Just a minute.” I heard keyboard clicking for a few seconds before she said, “Oh.” She sounded surprised. “It’s Mikis.”

After getting the correct spelling, I said, “Thank you. That’s helpful.”

“I’ll bet you made something of yourself, Ms. Campbell. You’re persistent.”

“Only when I need to be,” I said. “Thanks again.”

I called Nick and told him what I learned.

“Mikis Caras. Sounds Greek.”

“Now that you mention it, yeah. It does.”

“I guess we need to shake a few dollars free from investments and get an investigator who can find him,” Nick said. “Can you do the legwork? Get somebody who acts fast.”

“Before I do that, I’m going to call the National Guard and ask if they can tell me where he is. His name has to be pretty unusual.”

After ninety plus minutes of being on hold, having my call dropped, and getting a run around, I got a mail address. It was a military post office in Corpus Christi. I sat down to compose a letter.

Dear Mr. Caras:

I know you remember me because it’s not every day you save a student from fictional characters. Thing is, the solution has expired. Could you please put me in touch with the party who helped ten years ago? I’m married and living in Silicon Valley. So, if there’s someone in the area, travel isn’t a problem.

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