Things Go Flying

Harold sniffed. “He’s hammered.” Audrey unwisely put on the overhead light before Harold was able to shift John’s inert body sufficiently out of the way to close the front door. Was the secret or lie, as the case may be, serving the greater good? Besides, the evidence was there—he himself had caught Harold having conversations with thin air. When the rest of them finally trickled down to breakfast, Audrey was gripping her smiley-face mug, her coffee gone cold, and staring at the kitchen wall.