That day Nadine and I had stepped up three rickety wooden steps to the old screen door I wanted to stay outside. I couldn"t put a name on what I felt, but I didn"t want to be there. One of the stairs shifted dangerously under my foot and I hopped off it quickly, giving Nadine a look.
“Sorry, forgot to warn you about that step,” Nadine said, pointing.
Stale cigarette smoke drifted from the open screen door. I didn"t know exactly what I might see inside, and really didn"t want to look too closely.
The interior was dank and smelled strongly of stale cigarettes, and something else I wasn"t sure, but it might have been beer or booze. My gaze went all the way through to the small kitchen where the trash was over-flowing, as were ash trays stationed on every surface.
Someone croaked, “Wendy!
