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Angela’s Wolves


Maria Isabel Pita

Copyright 2009 Maria Isabel Pita

Smashwords Edition

Angela’s Wolves

Angela’s father was in town for a month. When he called her one Sunday morning and invited her to the local Renaissance Fair that afternoon she agreed to go. He picked her up in a rental car with Rose, his third wife, sitting dutifully by his side.

Peter said, “So, how are you my dear?” as he backed out of the driveway of what Angela secretly thought of as her doll’s house, because it was small and she was playing at being grown up there.

“I’m fine,” she replied shortly. His casual tone always put her on the defensive. Her life was worth a bit more passion than that. She sat in the back seat snacking on Cuban crackers. Normally she avoided refined carbohydrates, not to mention anything containing lard, but she hadn’t eaten lunch and she was, as usual, starving.

He adopted a more serious tone. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nope. It’s still as hard as it ever was to meet any decent men, either online or at old-fashioned meat markets.”

“You have a butcher?” Rose said innocently. “Where we live I have to buy all our meat at grocery stores and it’s really not as fresh.”

Angela laughed and brushed white crumbs off her black shorts.

“My love,” Peter sighed condescendingly, “she meant bars.”

He met his daughter’s eyes in the rearview mirror and added, “Eat some more crackers. You’re as thin as a skeleton. And who cut your hair anyway? You look like you just walked out of an Egyptian tomb, for God’s sake.”

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