Barking Up the Wrong Tree

by Sawyer Bennett

  Before I can even move, he’s set the cream horn on top of the display case, and pulls out a twenty. “Throw a few more of those in there.”

  Larkin smiles knowingly as she fills a pink box with my favorite treats, and I look up at Jake with a cocked eyebrow.

  He merely grins at me and says, “Just get used to it.”

  “We’re not dating though,” I say adamantly.

  “If it makes you feel better to say that, then by all means,” he says as he grabs his cream horn. “I’m not going to stop you. But not going to agree with you either.”

  “You said we shouldn’t put a label on this,” I mutter.

  Jake doesn’t respond to me. He merely looks across at Larkin. “Is she always stubborn like this?”

  Larkin wrinkles her nose and nods. “It kind of runs in the family.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Jake says with a laugh and holds the pastry up. “And thanks again for the treat.”

  After Larkin seals the box, makes change for Jake, and we chat a little bit more, we decide to head over to Chesty’s for a beer before we have to get back for MG’s afternoon feeding.

  We tried a new tactic today, but it failed miserably. Miserably and hilariously at the same time.

  Jake sat on the barn floor, and MG jumped into his lap. I sat down right beside him, our legs both stretched out. As per usual, MG started in on the bottle, hungrily sucking down the formula. After she had about half the bottle down, I casually reached my hand over and laid it on top of Jake’s that was holding the bottle. MG didn’t seem to notice, her throat working double time in her hunger.

  Slowly, Jake slid his hand out and my hand gripped the bottle.

  For two whole seconds, I fed MG.

  But then she released the bottle, turned in Jake’s lap, and then bleated at me with what I swear was a berating diatribe of how I tried to pull one over on her.

  Jake burst out laughing, but I was actually offended.

  He merely took the bottle from me and fed his goat again, cooing soft words to her. I don’t foresee Jake being able to leave Whynot anytime soon. Still, we agreed we’d try this every day for at least one feeding, alternating with Carlos, too.

  Inside Chesty’s, I’m disappointed to see Pap isn’t at his stool. After Jake and I order our beers, I ask Sam-Pete, “Where’s Pap? He’s usually in around this time.”

  “Said he wasn’t feeling good,” Sam-Pete says with a slight shrug, but I can see the worry in his eyes. “He hasn’t been feeling good a lot lately.”

  “What?” I ask in astonishment. Because this is the first I’ve heard of it.

  “He’s been spending most of his time in his apartment,” Sam-Pete says as he leans over the counter to talk in a lower voice to me. He’s not about to share Pap’s business. “He’ll come down around the dinner hour when he knows one of you kids are likely to come have a beer with him, but for the most part, he stays up there.”

  Something hard knots up in my stomach, and I push right back off my stool. “I’m going to go check on him.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Jake asks, and I can see he’s fed off the worry in Sam-Pete’s look and my voice.

  I shake my head. “Nah. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be right back down.”

  I turn and make it one step before Jake has his hand on my wrist. I look over my shoulder at him, but he doesn’t say a word. He only tugs on my arm, so I take a step back toward him, then he leans over and kisses my wrist.

  And that’s it.

  He releases me and turns back toward his beer. I vaguely hear him ask Sam-Pete if he can find a Cubs game on the TV to watch.

  Pap lives above Chesty’s in a small apartment. He’s been here for over two decades since he came to Whynot. Mama and Daddy tried to get him to live at the farmhouse, but he wasn’t having any of it. Said he was far too independent for that, and no one would disagree with him.

  As I climb the staircase that runs up to his apartment, I try to think back to the last several times I’d seen Pap. I see him a few times a week at a minimum, often more since my clinic is less than a stone’s throw from the bar.

  He’s seemed fine, I think.

  Voice clear and resilient.

  Hugs strong.

  No pain on his face.

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  I knock on the door, giving two sharp raps because he’s almost completely deaf in his right ear and he’s not the greatest about wearing his hearing aids. I hear nothing at first, but then his shuffling gait getting closer to the door.

  When he opens it, he blinks at me in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why aren’t you down in the bar?” I throw back at him, knowing I’m coming off a little defensive but he’s clearly hiding something.

  Pap shrugs and turns away from the door, shuffling toward his living room. He’s got on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, with a lightweight blanket wrapped around him. His apartment is stifling, yet he seems to be cold.

  “Sam-Pete said you weren’t feeling well,” I say, seeing he’s hunched over a little.

  “Just a tummy ache,” he grumbles as he sits down in his recliner. “Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

  “He said you’ve been spending most of your days up here,” I continue. “That’s not like you.”

  While Pap doesn’t spend one-hundred percent of his time in Chesty’s, he’s there often. But when he’s not downing a beer with friends, he’s either flirting with his landlady Mary-Margaret Quinn or shooting the breeze with Floyd at his hardware store. Pap’s a local on town square almost every single day, and he once said he was afraid he’d die if he ever slowed down.

  “You’re not dying, are you?” I ask fearfully as I come to kneel at his feet.

  Pap reaches a hand out, and I think he’s going to stroke my cheek or something. Instead, he pops me on the back of my head, not hard enough to hurt but enough to let me know my question was stupid.

  “Of course I’m not dying,” he says in exasperation. “I’m just not feeling good. I’m eighty-one years old, you know.”

  “What about your stomach is hurting?” I ask, because although I’m just a veterinarian, I do have generalized medical experience and much of what happens in animals happens in humans, too.

  “It’s just hurting,” he grumbles petulantly. “More when I eat.”

  “For how long?” I push at him.

  “A few weeks, maybe,” he replies, and I can hear a very slight tremor of worry.

  “Anything else?” I ask firmly, because I can sense now that he doesn’t know what to do.

  He remains quiet though, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

  “Pap…”

  Finally, his gaze lifts and his brown eyes pin me in place. “Some blood in my stool.”

  My stomach drops. “What color?”

  To my surprise, Pap’s face flames red and he snaps at me, “What the hell difference does it make what color it is? Isn’t anything sacred anymore?”

  “What color?” I snap right back at him, because I know enough to know that one could be very dangerous and the other not as much.

  “Black. Dark,” he finally mutters.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly. I push up from my knees and stand over him. “This could be serious, Pap. That’s old blood. Something inside of you is bleeding.”

  “Well, I kinda figured that might be the case,” he mumbles.

  “And you didn’t think you should see a doctor for it?” I ask him incredulously, my anger now starting to replace my fear.

  “I’m an old man, Laken,” he says softly. “I’ve led a long life. A good life. What do I care?”

  “You may not care, but I do and so does everyone else in your family. This whole town for that matter,” I snarl at him. “You’re going to a doctor, and I’m taking you. Get dressed.”

  Pap’s chin pulls sharply inward. “What? Now?”

  “Yes, now,” I say as I walk into
his bedroom to find his shoes. “Doc Galloway will work you in.”

  “I am not going to see Galloway right now,” Pap grumbles. To prove his point, he kicks his recliner back. “I’ll make an appointment next week.”

  Pap thinks he’s got the best of me, but he has no clue how dirty I can play. I don’t even bother arguing. Instead, I pull my cell phone out of my purse and dial Trixie’s work number as I saw her car parked out front. She answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”

  “Get up here to Pap’s apartment right now,” I tell her, and that’s all I need to say. She can hear it in my voice.

  “I’m on my way,” she says and hangs up.

  Trixie is Pap’s girl. He won’t say no to her, so he knows he’s been defeated. With a sigh, he pushes the recliner back into an upright position and mutters, “Damn meddling, conniving kids.”

  Trixie arrives in under thirty seconds. It takes me another two minutes to explain things to her, another minute for Pap to put up a small fight, and then we have him packed up and out the door.

  I offer to come with them, but Pap tells me he doesn’t want a big fuss. He lets us figure out who will take him, but I immediately defer to Trixie. Because she’s Pap’s girl and those two are thicker than thieves, I know he’d feel slightly better with her by his side than me, and that’s quite all right as long as he’s going to the doctor.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jake

  After Trixie loaded Pap up and took him to the doctor, Laken asked me to take her home. We’d dropped Herman off there earlier, and I’m thinking she just wanted the familiar surroundings of her own place.

  When we got there, I didn’t even think twice about getting out of my rental car—a Ford sedan this time—and following her into the house. She didn’t tell me to stay out, nor did she invite me in. Laken went straight to the kitchen and started unloading the dishwasher. Herman walked into the kitchen, and as if he sensed his mom was lost in thought, he merely laid on the floor beside her.

  She doesn’t have to tell me how important her grandfather is to her, because I can read it by the waves of tension and worry coming off her. I don’t try to provoke conversation, but merely let her talk about what she wants to.

  Weirdly, she wants to talk about elephants.

  “Did you know that an elephant herd is led by a matriarch?” she asks as she starts moving clean glasses from the dishwasher to a cupboard.

  “I did not,” I say as I take a seat at her kitchen table. It’s a light oak, farmhouse style, with a white tiled top. It totally suits her.

  She nods and continues, moving on to the plates. “They’re fascinating animals. They show humor, compassion, and playfulness. They’re one of the closest-knit animal societies, and they even exhibit cooperative tendencies.”

  I’m not quite sure where she’s going with this, but I feel compelled to ask. “You have to learn this stuff in vet school?”

  She shakes her head, but keeps her focus on the silverware she’s now sorting and putting away. “I watched a Nat Geo special a few weeks ago.”

  “They’re really smart animals, right?” I ask.

  She puts a coffee cup and a small plate from the sink in the now-empty dishwasher, closes it, and turns to face me. She leans back against the counter, palms on the edge. “Extremely smart. They have the largest brain of any land animal and three times as many neurons as humans.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say softly, because I’m finally getting it. She’s trying to do anything she can to not think about her grandfather right now.

  Laken nods a bit too enthusiastically and says, “They’re empathetic animals. They show affection by winding their trunks with each other. They show compassion for other species, too. They’ve even been known to help rescue other trapped animals.”

  I don’t respond, but there’s no need too. Laken’s gaze drops to her linoleum floor and her eyebrows draw inward.

  She takes in a tiny breath and whispers, “They grieve for their dead.”

  I wasn’t going to make a move, figuring my place was just to let her occupy her mind in any way that she could. But I hear the tremor in her voice, and I can tell her mind has already skipped way ahead to losing Pap.

  I’m out of the chair and pulling her into my arms before she can even look at me. Wrapping her up tight, I give her a squeeze when she turns her head to press her cheek to my chest. It takes only a moment, but her arms go around my waist.

  “Don’t think like that, baby,” I tell her softly, and then Herman’s up and pushing his head in between us. Laken drops a hand to scratch at his head, and he whines softly.

  And that’s when I feel her body jerk slightly in my arms, and I realize it’s a tiny sob that she’s refusing to let out. I know enough about Laken to realize she’s a tough woman and probably doesn’t want me to see her tears.

  So I give her some facts of my own to see if I can get her focus elsewhere.

  “Did you know that goats were first tamed by humans as herd animals over nine thousand years ago?” I ask.

  She jolts again slightly, but this time lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes swim with curiosity instead of fear, so I push forward.

  “I read a lot of stuff on goats trying to figure out how to break MG’s bond with me,” I tell her, bringing my hands to her face. Grazing my thumbs along her cheekbones, I say, “Of course, I didn’t learn a damn thing that would help me, but I find it fascinating that goats’ pupils are rectangular, which gives them vision for 320 to 340 degrees compared to us lowly humans with our round pupils. We only get 160-210 degrees.”

  She just stares at me a moment before she says, “You can be weird sometimes, but I like the distraction of it.”

  I’ve never been called weird before but I’ll take it right now, because I even get a tiny smile from her. “The most disturbing fact I learned is that goat is the most consumed meat per capita worldwide. That creeps me out beyond measure.”

  “I’ve actually had goat,” Laken says in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s not bad at all.”

  “No wonder MG doesn’t trust you or any other human,” I scoff, and Laken bursts out laughing. I kiss her on the mouth. “How about we make some dinner? It would be rude of you to invite me into your home and not offer to feed me.”

  “I didn’t invite you into my home,” she says drily.

  “Oh, you want me here,” I say confidently. “Now feed me, woman.”

  “Are you trying to handle me?”

  “Yup.”

  “To get my mind off Pap?”

  “Yup.”

  “You know, sex would work better,” she points out, but she’s not serious. She’s still far too worried and waiting for a phone call that will either scare the crap out of her or ease her mind. I think us cooking something will be a better way to pass the time.

  Pulling away from Laken, I brazenly walk over to her refrigerator and open it up. “I’m starving. Let’s cook something.”

  “How about breakfast?” she says as I spot about the only ingredients in there that could possibly make a meal.

  I grab the eggs and bacon, and turn to her. “Breakfast it is.”

  ♦

  We’re just eating the last of our food—Laken tossing the last piece of her bacon down to Herman—when her cell phone rings. She snatches it so fast from the table she almost knocks her water glass over, but my hand shoots out to steady it.

  She taps the icon to put the phone on speaker, holding it in the middle of the table for me to listen in on. I’m guessing it’s Trixie or Pap as she answers, “Well… what is it?”

  “They’re going to admit him to county hospital,” Trixie says, and Laken’s tanned face goes pale. “Doc Galloway did some bloodwork and said he was concerned about the results. Something about his CBCs and liver function. So they want him to get a CT scan of his abdomen, and then they’re going to start prepping him for an endoscopy and a colonoscopy tomorrow.”

  Damn… that did not sound good at all.


  “What are they thinking it is?” Laken asks. Her voice sounds strong, but if Trixie were here right now to see her sister’s face, she’d know she’s scared out of her mind.

  “They’re not thinking anything,” Trixie says in a tone that’s at once both soothing and commanding. “It could be a variety of things.”

  “Like what?” Laken demands, but I can tell she has her own suspicions.

  Trixie sighs heavily into the phone before saying, “It could be something as simple as an ulcer.”

  “Or something as bad as cancer.” Laken finally gets to the real crux of her fear. It’s where my thoughts had gone as well.

  “There is no sense in worrying at this point,” Trixie gently chides her sister. “Pap’s not worried at all.”

  “Because he’s a crusty, fearless, former Marine who eats nails for breakfast,” Laken grumbles.

  “Probably why his stomach hurts,” Trixie quips, and I’m amazed at both sisters as they start laughing hysterically.

  From fear to hilarity in a moment’s time.

  “I’m coming to the hospital,” Laken says as her laughter dies down.

  “No,” Trixie says firmly. “Pap forbids it. In fact, he’s making me go home as soon as they settle him into a room. He’s also forbidden us to tell anyone else at this point.”

  Laken practically sputters, “He can’t seriously think we can keep this from Mama and Daddy? They’ll go bananas if they find out he was in the hospital and we didn’t tell them.”

  “I know,” Trixie says with defeat. “But are you willing to cross him?”

  “Yes,” Laken says adamantly. “Yes, I am. Pap’s never been in the hospital before unless you count the time Lowe caught him in the back with a fishing hook as he was trying to cast and Lowe was too squeamish to pull the hook out.”

  “He was five years old,” Trixie defends their younger brother, but then gets back to the more prominent issue at hand. “Are you seriously going to tell Mama and Daddy?”

  “God, yes, Trixie,” Laken practically whines with frustration. “I love Pap, but I love Mama and Daddy just a tiny bit more since they brought me into this world. They have a right to know. I can tell them not to fuss and make a big deal, but—”