GeePa made a cup of coffee and sat down to read the paper.

[Yes, Andy Clark still subscribes to the paper. Holding a newspaper makes him feel really old (like ancient), but also somehow like a real rebel. Sure, you can get free news right at your fingertips any time you want, but it seems like cheating. Or too easy. Or maybe even too… safe. A lot can happen overnight after those printing presses have gone quiet. ]

There apparently wasn’t much going on anyway because the headline was something about the upcoming Bittybury Hospital Annual Gala.

Andy got up to pour another cup of coffee. The dishes from last night beckoned to him from the sink, but he wasn’t in the mood quite yet. A dark red blur caught his eye outside the window. The robins were bathing in the bird bath again. A squirrel ran around frantically trying to find where they had hidden the bird feeder. He wasn’t going to find it. This time of the year, the feeders went into the garage at night to keep the bears from tearing them down.

It was already 9:25, but the house was a little too quiet. He assumed GeeMa and Anna were in the shop. He tiptoed to Andrew’s bedroom and listened at the door. He couldn’t hear any music, which was weird. Or maybe not. Sometimes GeeMa went in and turned it off. She said that playing music all night was bad for your brain. He tended to agree, but he wasn’t about to be the one who told Andrew that.

He knew better than to open the door without knocking, but he did anyway. Just a crack. Andrew wasn’t in his bed.

And that’s when GeePa heard the clock chime four times.

“That damn clock,” Andy muttered. Every time that clock made some kind of sound, the next few days were going to be rough. At least this time it was only a four-alarm call, and it was a "ting, ting" sound, not at all like the last time.

He sighed. He knew what he was getting into when he married Rose almost four decades ago. They had met in college, in a creative writing class. He had been smitten by the stories she wrote. Stories about strange little worlds that sounded so real that he hadn’t been surprised when she had finally told him about The Betwixt.

He sighed again, turned the heat back on under the kettle, and started running the water for the dishes. Doing the dishes gave him time to think. Time to organize his thoughts and come up with a game plan for the day. Back when he worked for the newspaper, he barely had time to read the paper before heading out, much less do the dishes. Now that he was semi-retired, his routine was much less hurried. Sleep late (as late as old people sleep anyway), turn on the news to make sure the world hadn’t blown up overnight, make a cup of coffee, change the channel, read the paper, change the channel, check his email, do the dishes. Shower, decide on whether today was a gym day or not, have a cup of coffee. Step on the porch and smoke a bowl. Go to the gym or not.

The rest of his day was always more of the same. Decide if today was a work day or not. Work on a sewing machine or not. Pay some bills or not. Watch a “Bewitched” rerun or not. Go for a run if it was nice outside. Go to the grocery store and cook dinner. Life was pretty sweet. Unless that damn clock had something to say.

And today the clock apparently had something to say. Rosie came into the kitchen from the patio. She had to push the door twice to get it to close, but then decided to just leave it open. A little fresh air wouldn’t hurt this morning. Andy put the door on his mental checklist. Again.

She sidled up next to him at the sink. He leaned in when she kissed his forehead. It was a familiar move, not just on days that were getting ready to get weird.

“I turned the kettle back on,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, and kissed his forehead again.

Rose pointed to the shelf above the cabinet and Andy grabbed the jar of dried Mugwort and Yarrow leaves. She dropped a big pinch into her cup. The smell always made Andy think of Hay Day. Fresh cut hay, dust, a horse barn, and sweat from putting up a hundred bales of hay. He reached into the cookie jar and grabbed a handful of rosemary crackers for her. That smell always made him think of roasted chicken. Mmmm, maybe chicken and mashed potatoes tonight for dinner.

After giving him one more kiss on the forehead (today was going to be hard), Rose retreated to her room with her tea in hand and crackers in her pocket. Andy started on the dishes. He thought about making a cup of Mugwort tea, just to see what it was like, but he couldn’t get past the smell.