Chapter seven:
Samantha could hear Pink Floyd's. The Great Gig in the sky from Manfred's house before she even parked the Mustang- this time finding a spot between two driveways across the street from the house- and she wondered if the same neighbors who objected to Scottso rehearsing in the house would object to Deanna blaring the stereo.
Inside, Samantha thought she'd be deafened by the music, and was grateful that she came home when Deanna was playing the low key strains of Floyd rather than, say, Metallica or AC/DC or Deep Purple.
Turning left as she came in, she saw Deanna in the easy chair- it was a recliner, which she knew because Deanna had reclined it all the way back, her feet up- air drumming with her right hand while flipping pages of dad's journal with her left. Albums were strewn all over the floor, Samantha's laptop was on the coffee table, precariously balanced on some old newspapers and magazines. Wincing, Samantha walked in and moved it to the couch- and action that also yanked the power cord out, which went some way toward explaining why Deanna had been so careless with the laptop.
Only noticing Samantha's arrival, Deanna grabbed a remote off the floor next to her and turned the volume down. Sorry about that, Samantha, but the battery was running low, and the only free plug was over there.
Deanna pointed at the now slack power cord, which snaked around to a plug by the living room doorway.
Whatever. Find anything? Asked Samantha.
Actually, I did. Deanna reached down and pushed the brown lever on the side of the easy chair, which brought it back upright and the footrest down with a solid thunk. And it isn't exactly what you'd call great news.
Not liking the sound of that, Samantha said, Hold that thought. I need some more coffee.
Deanna grinned and grabbed a mug that was on the coffee table. Just made a fresh pot ten minutes ago. Help yourself. And I love you baby sister.
Thanks. And I love you too, big sister. Replied Samantha.