After I pull the ladder to full extension and lock it, I climb up to see what the attic has to offer. This is immediately made difficult by the fact the hanging light bulb over the opening doesn’t work. No worries as I turn on the flashlight app on my phone and shine the powerful light around the space before I climb all the way in.
I can see immediately that it’s completely laid with plywood over the rafters and that there is a ton of junk stored up here. I curse at Farrington under my breath as this house was to be completely emptied.
Hauling myself into the attic space, I have to stoop to avoid hitting my head on the steeply sloped ceiling.
Crap everywhere.
Dusty boxes, old furniture, a roll of carpet, a creepy naked female mannequin that I most certainly don’t want to know why he had her, and an artificial Christmas tree.
I walk around, pulling some boxes out so I can see what’s behind them.
More boxes.
I look at the furniture, but it’s not even good antique quality. Broken and perhaps once was going to be fixed but was just stuffed up here and forgotten about. The Christmas tree still has lights and bulbs on it, indicating laziness.
Reaching into the center of the tree, I grab the middle pole to pull it out so I can see what’s behind it and something fairly large comes flying out of the branches.
Brown wings brush so closely to my face my hair flutters from the breeze. It scares the crap out of me, and I bring my hands up protectively on pure instinct alone. But then it’s gone, dipping downward and out through the attic opening. I close the attic back up so whatever it is can’t fly back up there and hide.
“Just great,” I mutter as I turn for the ladder and trudge back down it.
I’m thinking it was a bird that got caught in the attic, and I figure that’s an easy enough fix. I’ll just open every door and window in the house and shoo it out.
Except I can’t find the damn thing. I wander through every room on the second floor, then go down to the first.
Nothing.
With only resolve leading the way, I go back upstairs to search again. I know it has to be up there, and I carefully go through each room.
I find it in one of the guest rooms.
Hidden in the folds of heavy brocade curtains.
And it’s not a bird, but a bat that looks much smaller when it’s all folded up than when it was flying at me. When it first flew past my face, I was convinced it had a wing span of about two feet, but in actuality, the thing would easily fit in the palm of my hand.
I shudder, because there is no way in hell that I’m touching that thing. It’s one thing to shoo a bird out of the house, but bats can be rabid.
For a moment, I consider calling Laken. This idea is immediately tossed as I realize I’m going to have my entire man card revoked if I call my girlfriend to come and get this bat out of my house.
Instead, I do some brief research online and determine that the county has an animal control service. I call them but get nothing but a recording asking me to leave a message.
I do but based on the fact the message stated it could be up to forty-eight hours before they could respond, and if it was an emergency to call the police, I wasn’t exactly hopeful they were going to help me with my bat problem.
Knowing that thing is upstairs in my house, very close to the room I sleep in, it doesn’t take me long to say to hell with my man card and call Laken.
She doesn’t laugh at me, but I can hear the amusement in her voice when she promises me she’ll head right over as soon as she finishes up her current appointment.
♦
“It’s okay,” she calls from upstairs. “I’ve got it.”
I tentatively walk up the stairs to find Laken coming out of the bedroom with Herman on her heels looking at her curiously. She has the bat wrapped up in a towel, and I eyeball it warily. Herman looks at it hungrily.
“What are you going to do with it?” I ask.
“Release it outside,” she says with a smirk. “But he’s probably going to end right back up in your attic. You’ve clearly got an opening in your eaves that will need sealed up.”
“Great,” I say as I move back a few steps so she can walk by me with the little monster.
“Lowe can get up there and seal it with some steel mesh. I’ll call him to come over.”
I follow behind her down the stairs, my eyes pinned to the way she’s holding the bat in the towel. She’s cradling it gently, so gently I’m afraid it might fly out of her hands.
When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she turns around to face me. I scramble backward up three steps to put distance between the bat and me.
“Are you afraid?” she asks incredulously, but she knows damn well I’m not liking this flying rodent in my house.
“No way,” I say in the deepest voice possible.
“Then come here and look at it,” she says sweetly. “It’s just a little brown bat.”
Every bit of testosterone in my body is screaming at me to man up and look at the little bat. But my brain, which is filled with logic and reason and the knowledge that bats carry rabies, causes me to rebel.
“No, thanks,” I say, still in a deep voice, but she can take the words from me as nothing but prim.
Goodbye, man card. It was nice knowing you.
Laken laughs. Within that sound, I hear absolute delight that she saved me from the big, bad bat. “You’re lucky we’re out of their breeding season. State law prohibits their removal between May and July so if there were pups up there, they wouldn’t starve.”
I try to control a shudder as she leaves. I watch her through the kitchen window as she walks past the barn to let the bat loose. It immediately flies up into the nearest tree, which is still too close to the house in my opinion. I’ll be damned if I’ll tell Laken that, though.
As she comes back toward the house, Herman trotting happily beside her with his tail wagging, I grit my teeth at the smirk she still wears on her face. She’s even shaking her head back and forth in what I take to be absolute amusement at my discomfort.
Okay… that’s just not going to do.
I can’t have the woman thinking there’s a single weakness within me, even though she’d probably pee her pants if she knew I’m also really skittish around lizards for some reason.
When her feet hit the top porch step, I’m at the door meeting her, intent on reestablishing my dominance in the relationship.
As soon as she crosses the threshold, I give her a little push on her back toward the stairway. She looks over her shoulder at me curiously. “What are you doing?”
“Going to take you upstairs and have mad, passionate, caveman-like sex with you,” I tell her with brutal honesty.
She doesn’t balk but sways her hips as she precedes me up the stairs. “Need to reclaim your manhood, right?” she asks knowingly.
I grit my teeth and don’t answer. Instead, I give her a firmer nudge with my hands into the master bedroom but past the bed and right into the bathroom.
“Shower first,” I tell her.
“Why?” she practically purrs but she knows why and she’s going to make me say it.
“Because that bat skeeved me out. It flew past me, dropping God knows what little microscopic nasties it has on it. You probably touched it, too.”
I manage to control my shudder.
“We’ll be fine if we just wash our hands,” she says genially and tries to veer toward the sink.
My lips curve into a smile, because I know she’s teasing me. And to show her I can still have fun with this situation despite my discomfort, I wrap my arms around her waist and put my chin on her shoulder. In my sexiest voice, I whisper in her ear, “Come on, Laken. What could be more fun than a middle-of-the-day shower? Getting all slick and soapy together. You know you want to.”
The way she melts against me tells me, yeah… she wants to.
I brush my lips against her jaw and release her to turn the shower on. Without me
needing to tell her to do so, she starts peeling her clothes off. My tongue practically falls out of my mouth as I watch her.
“Get naked, city boy,” she says as she nods at me. “Last one in has to wash the other down.”
That’s all I need to hear. I start stripping my clothes so fast I hear the seam tear slightly on my t-shirt. I’m so fast, I manage to get my last article of clothing off… that would be my boxers, just as Laken pushes her underwear down her legs.
I pull the shower door open. With a grand sweep of my hand toward it, I say, “After you.”
“Why thank you, kind sir,” she says sassily but before she can even take a step, a brown streak of fur shoots past both of us. Before I can blink, Herman’s standing in the shower, his tail wagging happily as he grins up at Laken.
Laken gives a delighted laugh, which makes Herman’s tail wag harder. She gets a stern look on her face and points toward the bathroom door. But her voice is anything but firm or commanding when she says, “You get out of there right now, mister.”
I roll my eyes. She might as well have just knelt in front of him, taken his big face in her hands, and baby talked him with, “Who’s Mommy’s cutest little doggie woggie?”
Herman reacts immediately to her tone. His butt goes up in the air and his head drops down to his paws as he looks at his mom with pure mischief. The water from the shower is completely soaking him.
The look on his face and the wild, rolling eyes tells me he’s been deluged with frisky euphoria after getting drenched in the shower, and I don’t believe for a second that he’s going to meekly leave on Laken’s command.
♦
Herman
On friskiness…
When my mom lets me lay in bed with her, and I put my big head on her chest so I can stare at her adoringly while she scratches the back of my neck, it’s the best feeling in the world.
The second best is when my puppy spirit takes over. I know as I’ve gotten older the last several months, I’ve had to be a better-behaved dog. Mom does a good job of rewarding me for good behavior, and for the most part, I don’t cause her any disappointment.
But there are some days… even some moments, when I’m brought back to the days when Mom used to call me, “You little stinker,” or when she used to call me by my full name, “Dammit Herman”.
Whenever I heard “Dammit Herman,” I knew the fun I’d had doing whatever I did to get my full name called out to me had been well worth it.
I have the puppy spirit flowing freely now, and let’s face it, I can tell by the look on my mom’s face and the laughter in her voice she’s not mad I jumped in the shower.
What really gets me pumped though is that tiny gleam in her eye. I don’t see it often, but when I do, I can translate it rather clearly.
It says, “I love you so much, dog, even though you’re so bad. In fact, I think I love you more when you’re bad.”
It’s all the encouragement I need.
When she points at the door and says a bunch of words—the only one I understand being “out”—I’m filled with the puppy spirit and my actions are no longer my own. The euphoria and pure joy that races through my blood… the need to cause havoc and mayhem that seems to settle deep in my bones… makes me know that “Dammit Herman” is about to let loose.
I bolt out of the shower, confused for just a moment when I don’t seem to go anywhere. I take mental stock of my body, and yes… my legs are all moving in a running pattern, but I’m just not going anywhere.
Then it hits me that the floor is slippery and I dig down harder, my claws scraping harshly on the tile. I finally get traction and shoot forward across the bathroom at the speed of light. I go so fast, my ears flap backward and my jowls bounce as I run toward the bedroom.
Mom’s little laugh of delight eggs me on further.
I sail like one of those giant birds that circle in the sky looking for dead animals onto the bed, where I perform three perfectly executed and tight turns as if I’m chasing my tail. As I come out of the last turn, my eyes catch Mom’s as she stands in the bathroom, this time with her hand clamped over her mouth so as not to laugh at me.
Doesn’t matter. I don’t need to hear the sounds. I can tell I’m thoroughly charming her and now more than anything, I must get back to my mom for lots of praise and ear scratches.
I shoot back off the bed, across the bedroom, and into the bathroom.
But once my feet hit that wet floor again, my legs shoot out from underneath of me, splaying in all directions. My stomach hits the floor and I go sliding.
Careening.
Totally out of control right at the man my mom really likes called Jake.
Jake’s eyes widen, and I can see him make a pathetic effort to get out of my way. I feel my tongue fall out of my mouth and it flaps happily as I glide right on a collision course with Jake.
The impact doesn’t hurt me. I tuck my head and hit the soft part of his lower legs.
And then all I see is human legs and arms flapping everywhere, seemingly tumbling end over end until I slide right under Jake and he slams down onto the floor behind me. My body comes to a stop at the shower door.
Jake starts yelling words that I don’t understand, but I can judge by the tone of his voice that he’s not charmed the way my mom is.
Speaking of which, my head snaps toward my mom just as she calls me by my full name.
“Dammit, Herman,” she cries, but this time, she’s mad. Then she’s on her knees on the floor beside Jake, and while I don’t understand those words, I recognize the tone. It’s the way she talks to me when she’s worried about something.
I’m in big trouble, so I just lay there quietly and watch as my mom checks Jake over. I’m greatly relieved when he stands up and even gives a laugh.
A quick look at my mom and I see she’s still looking at Jake.
She totally likes him a lot.
CHAPTER 18
Laken
My phone rings and because it’s my mother’s ring tone, I nab it off my desk. I’ve been making a concerted effort each day to clean it off before I leave for the day, and so far, I’ve been pretty proud of myself. Right now, it’s pristine with the only thing left out is a resume from a woman I’m interviewing tomorrow as a part-time vet tech.
But more important things first. I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for this phone call, so I answer it almost breathlessly. “Are the results in?”
“They are,” my mother says. When I hear the sadness in her voice, my heart completely pitches and sinks down low.
The news is bad. We’ve been waiting all day to hear the results of some biopsies that were taken from the polyps in Pap’s colon the day before yesterday.
I swallow hard. “What is it?”
“Cancer,” she says softly, and my heart sinks lower. But her tone is a tad more hopeful when she says, “But it’s not the worst he could have. The doctor says it’s stage II cancer, which means that he’ll probably only need surgery to remove that section.”
“Probably?” I ask, pushing for more details. I hate not knowing everything there is to know. In my profession, I have to have every fact because the tiniest thing could have a major impact.
“He’ll have to see an oncologist but for the most part, they think it will just be surgery,” she says.
My breath rushes out, because while that seems positive in a way, Pap is eighty-one years old. Surgery is going to be tough on him.
“How is he?” I ask. To this, my mother gives a hearty snort.
“He’s Pap,” she says with part amusement and part irritation. “He’s having a grand old time at Chesty’s this afternoon. At least that’s where he was when he called me and your dad to tell us the results.”
“Typical,” I mutter, looking at my watch to note it was getting close to dinnertime.
After my crazy mid-morning rendezvous with Jake, which included ridding his house of a rogue bat and then watching my dog nearly kill him in the bathroom, I’d
actually enjoyed immersing myself in the humdrum of paperwork this afternoon. But now is as good a time as any to knock off and go sit with Pap. I have no clue what this diagnosis means for him, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste time I could be making memories with him.
Funny how something dire like this can make you re-evaluate everything in your life. After a day of work in the clinic, I usually long to just go home and relax. It was rare I’d go hang out with Pap. But now, I feel like time is being wasted even as we speak.
“I think I’ll head over there and hang with him for a bit,” I tell my mom.
“Your dad and Colt are already there. I expect the rest of the clan will be showing up as well. That’s good.”
“Are you coming out?” I ask.
“No,” she returns softly. “I think I just want to be alone to absorb this for right now.”
My heart swells with both love and sadness for my mom. Pap is her father-in-law, but he’s been very much a father to her in all ways since she married his son. It’s hitting her as hard as any of us, and she’ll be the one who will bear it all on strong shoulders. She is the strongest in our family and always has been.
“Okay, Mama. I love you.”
“Love you back, baby girl.”
“I’m older than Larkin,” I point out.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re all still my babies.”
I roll my eyes at her sentimental mom crap, but deep down I love it.
My mom makes me promise we’ll all do a family dinner tomorrow as Pap’s surgery would be the day after that. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Mom also extended an invitation to Jake to come along, but I’m not sure if I’ll share that with him. That would bring this from casual to meaning something more very quickly, so I don’t make any promises.
♦
When I walk into Chesty’s fifteen minutes later, I’m almost bowled over to see the amount of people inside. It’s never this crowded at this time of the early evening, and I’m thinking that word of Pap’s cancer diagnosis has spread quickly. This is in no way shocking as that is how small towns operate.
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