#5 (Part I)

#5 The Table (Part I)

     Thunder led the way up a brick path to the door of the house. We passed neatly trimmed and fragrant bushes of lavender and rosemary. “This is Thorn’s home. I don’t live here anymore. Used to. Just never fit in with the elegance he likes.”
     Just within the door was a table so familiar I looked at once for envelopes. “I have one of these at home. They must have been made by the same company.”
     “A knockoff, maybe.” Thunder dismissed. He tapped the top of the side-table. “This is the original. Thorn had it appraised six years ago. A carver-magician made it for our great-great-great dam.”
     “Another name for mother.”
     “Oh.” I considered the table. “I thought they were mass produced. I’m sorry. The one I have at home had a sticker on the bottom of the back left leg. I found it when I was cleaning the piece.”
     Thunder’s expression turned dark. “Did the sticker say Strumbeck and –“
     “Grandsons.” I said.
     I’d been treated to Thunder conversational, Thunder irritated, Thunder caring. Now I was treated to Thunder angry. He put a hole in the wall above the table. Plaster dust sprinkled the top of the furniture piece he’d lovingly caressed a moment before. Off to the side a black and white print swung for a moment, and then fell. The tinkle of glass one last final note in the air between us. Except it wasn’t. Because Thunder was breathing in a pant, each outward expulsion of air heavier than the one before.  
     Thunder was a big man, muscled.
     For the first time since meeting him I felt fear.

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