"You smell something?" Damon sniffed.
"Tara's making dinner." I stood up and reached for his hand. "Come."
We traced the smell to the kitchen but Tara was nowhere to be found. A door opened and I turned towards it.
"Hey," I called.
Tara closed the door behind her quickly, and turned towards us, eyes wide like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Her eyes flitted to Damon who stood by my side and she hid the shovel behind her quickly.
"Hi," she waved awkwardly.
I glanced out the window and saw the freshly dug grave covered with moist sand. Damon's gaze settled on the grave and then back to Tina.
"My… cat died," she said. She covered her mouth and sniffed loudly.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Damon said.
She dropped the shovel and crouched to her knees, hand flying to her chest.
"He was just a little boy, I barely had time to say goodbye to him," she sobbed.
