Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay

by Babette de Jongh

  She dreamed of a wolf dog who swam in the pool out back, retrieving rolled-up newspapers that floated on the surface, then setting them on the edge of the pool. The newspapers held some significance Abby couldn’t quite grasp, and she wondered if there was a message she could read inside them. She picked up each roll and tried to open it, but every time she tried, the papers snapped back as if they were made of plastic. The words she sought were inside, but she wasn’t given access to them.

  In the dream, she stacked the papers by the doorway, and the wolf dog sat guard over the growing pile. “What is the message inside these papers,” she asked him.

  “The message isn’t inside the papers.” He spoke to her in a human voice that reminded her of Quinn’s. “The papers are the message.”

  * * *

  The beer and TV therapy Quinn had been looking forward to didn’t have the desired effect. He couldn’t relax. He kept glancing over at the place next door, wondering how Abby was doing. He’d stayed till she got ready for bed, then made her promise to call him if she needed any help after he left.

  He kept looking out his sliding glass door toward her bedroom window, which he could see now that the goats had cleared out that section of hedge. The light had been turned out a while ago…

  But wait! Light bloomed behind the gauzy curtain, and a second later, his phone buzzed. He muted the TV. “Abby?”

  “It’s JP.” Quinn’s high-school buddy and sketchy ex-business partner.

  Shit. “What do you want, JP?”

  Quinn heard a faint whispering sound: JP rubbing his palms together, a nervous tic that meant he wasn’t being entirely honest. “I heard that you just bought a reno property. I’m guessing that after your divorce, you’re about skinned, and I thought I’d offer an olive branch. I might be willing to take that old estate off your hands for the right price. You’d still make a hefty profit, mind you. Save you some time and trouble in getting it, though.”

  Quinn ended the call.

  His phone buzzed again. He ended the call.

  The third time, he picked up. “I have no interest in anything you have to offer, JP.” And yet, he’d picked up the phone because he couldn’t blame the guy entirely. Though JP was guilty of using substandard materials and untrained work crews while charging a premium for top-grade materials and licensed workers, he wouldn’t have gotten away with it if Quinn had been paying attention. “I’m only hearing you out because I’m not blameless. I shouldn’t have let you do the ordering and billing when that was my job.”

  “I can tell that you’re still pissed, and I guess you have a right to be. I’m sorry I wasn’t more up-front with you.” JP gave a nervous-sounding laugh. “I know I made a mistake, and I want to officially apologize and try to make it right if I can.”

  I guess? One mistake? “You made quite a few mistakes, JP. You made a whole barge-full of mistakes that drove our business over the dam while I wasn’t looking.” He hadn’t been looking, because he had confessed to JP that his marriage was in trouble and he needed to spend more time at home. JP had clapped him on the shoulder and given him a bro hug, then told him to take all the time he needed. JP would handle the business end of the business till Quinn got his personal life sorted out. After all, JP had said, what are friends for?

  All Quinn had to do was show up from eight to four at the dried-in job sites and work his magic on the baseboards and the fancy crown-molding and the custom carpentry projects. Meanwhile, behind his back, JP was swindling the clients Quinn had hoped would be the foundation of their growing reputation as premier contractors for high-end construction projects.

  Quinn took another swig of his beer; it tasted like spit. “Yeah, you brought us both down.” Ruined Quinn’s life, in fact. “And I was the stupid fuck who didn’t see it coming.” Sure, he’d already been standing at the precipice of a bottomless pit, but JP’s unexpected kick in the rear had pushed him in. “I was too busy focusing on my family to see that the business my family depended on was going under.”

  “Melissa would’ve left you anyway, so I hope you’re not blaming me for that, too.”

  Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. “No, JP, I’m not blaming you for that, too.” Though going bankrupt sure hadn’t helped to bring any spark back to Melissa’s dark, damning eyes. “What do you want, JP? Absolution? Forgiveness?” They had been friends since high school, after all. “Fine, you’ve got both. Are we done?”

  “I hope not,” JP said. “I screwed up. I screwed up royally. I’m admitting it and apologizing from the bottom of my heart. I want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

  Quinn looked out the sliding glass doors at Abby’s bedroom window; the light was still on.

  “We’ve been friends forever,” JP reminded him. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but damn, man, I’ve got something new going—totally legit and aboveboard—and I hope you’ll let me make it up to you by bringing you in on the team. I’ve scoped out the land, and I already have investors ready to bankroll the whole thing. We’re talking millions of dollars plus investment dividends—and you wouldn’t have to invest your own money; I’d pay for us both to have a continued interest in the profits going forward.”

  Quinn couldn’t help but laugh. JP was always full of grandiose ideas that never panned out. “Yeah, sure.”

  “No, for real,” JP assured him. And this time, Quinn couldn’t hear the telltale sound of JP rubbing his palms together. “For a couple years’ work, you’d be set for a lifetime. Melissa would be begging you to take her back.”

  Quinn scoffed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but that ship has sailed.” He was surprised JP hadn’t made a move on Melissa by now, and he realized with a shock that he wouldn’t care if that happened.

  “You could be in charge of the building project—head carpenter, HMFIC, whatever—and you can examine the books anytime you want. I want you to be comfortable with this deal, if you decide to make it.”

  Quinn did have to admit that the lure of selling as-is for a quick profit had its allure. “I’ll take all that under advisement, JP. I’ll think about it and get back to you, but right now, I’ve gotta go.”

  He had to get up early and feed Abby’s damn farm animals, then spend the rest of the day doing his own work of laying the new flooring in the master bedroom of the pool house. He should quit looking at Abby’s window and go to bed; she had probably started reading a book and had fallen asleep with the light on.

  “Sure thing, dude. You have a couple months to think about selling that land. I’ve got some other deals in the making, so that can stay back-burner for now.”

  Abby’s light went out, leaving the farmhouse next door a dark silhouette in the moonlight. “Bye now, JP. Thanks for calling.”

  “I won’t ask anyone else about that job, either, until I hear back from you. You’re the best carpenter I know, and I want you on our team when this thing gets going.”

  Quinn just wanted to get off the phone. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.” Or not.

  He ended the call and turned off the TV.

  A distant, mournful howl made goose bumps erupt on the back of his neck. That wolf dog had been howling for the last few nights, the sound of loss and despair, maybe even of pain. Quinn went outside onto the patio. The pool pump made soft humming noises, and the automatic pool cleaner made chug-chugging sounds as it ate its way along the pool bottom.

  Abby had said something about feeding the wolf dog. She’d forgotten to do that today. He’d do it, then. The stray was probably hungry. She’d been taking water to it, too, so Quinn took an almost-empty milk carton from the fridge, poured out the suspicious-smelling dregs, then rinsed it and refilled it with water. He’d pour the water into the bucket she’d left out there. “Okay. What next?”

  Food wouldn’t be as easy. Quinn didn’t have dog food here, or any kind of processed pet foo
d. He opened the fridge door again and peered inside.

  Beer… No.

  Raw eggs? Because he wasn’t going to cook for the damn dog… No.

  He had just enough lunch meat and cheese to throw together a sandwich for himself tomorrow morning. “Nope, not gonna sacrifice that.”

  He didn’t even think about the steak he knew was in the meat drawer. That steak was his. He planned to throw it on the grill for dinner tomorrow night.

  He closed the refrigerator door and checked the pantry.

  Peanut butter… He could make the dog a sandwich. He took out the remnants of a loaf of bread, but only enough slices remained for his own breakfast and lunch.

  Canned soup… No.

  Brownie mix? He’d bought it for Sean’s visit. And though Sean wasn’t coming this weekend, the mix would last, and again, not cooking for a damn dog.

  The freezer yielded the only possible food item he could take to the still-howling wolf dog. A frozen pepperoni pizza. He wasn’t cooking for the dog, but hey, if it was hungry enough, it’d eat whatever was offered, frozen or not.

  Right?

  Right, he told himself.

  He took the gallon of water and the frozen pizza out to the roadside, lighting his way with his phone’s flashlight. Hearing something walking beside him—after he damn near shit himself with surprise—he swung his light toward the sound.

  “Georgia. What are you doing here?” His first panicked thought of whether Abby was okay slipped away when Georgia wagged her tail and leaped up to sniff the pizza. He didn’t think the dog would be this interested in pizza if she’d come to him for help. He hadn’t thought before this moment that Georgia probably went outside at night on a regular basis. She had her doggy door to the outside, and even if Abby hadn’t decided to start leaving the gate open, Georgia was small enough squiggle under it. God only knew what rich sort of night life this little dog got up to when everyone else was sleeping.

  Quinn emptied the water into the bucket. Then, while Georgia sat up in an admirable begging sit with her front paws in prayer position, he flung the boxed frozen pizza, Frisbee-style, out into the cat’s-claw forest.

  Chapter 11

  Wolf and Georgia sat together in the cat’s-claw forest, looking up.

  “Why do you suppose he did that?” Georgia asked.

  Wolf stood on his hind legs, his front feet up on the big tree’s slanted trunk. “Maybe it’s a test. Maybe if I climb the tree and rescue the food, they’ll let me stay.”

  Georgia climbed partway up the trunk, but stopped where it grew straight up. She sniffed the air; the thawing pizza’s scent leaked from the closed box. “I think he doesn’t know how to throw pizza. He brought you water; maybe this pizza was supposed to be for you, too.”

  Wolf sniffed the air, too. “It might rain. Maybe the box will get knocked down if it rains.” His stomach growled. “Are you sure it’s not a test?”

  Georgia hopped down from the tree trunk. “Who knows? People don’t know what they’re doing half the time. I think he just can’t throw.”

  Wolf put his head on his paws and groaned. “I was hungry.”

  Georgia licked his face. “There’s kibble and fresh water on the back porch. Abby just put it out for you.”

  Wolf sat up. “Really?”

  Georgia sniffed the wound in his side. “This smells bad. Are you keeping it clean?”

  Wolf turned to demonstrate his inability to turn around far enough to reach the tear in his flesh. “Can’t reach.”

  Georgia came close and tenderly licked the wound, using her teeth to pull out bits of matted hair, dead skin, leaves, and twigs that had stuck to the raw, oozing gash. Wolf eased to his elbows on the leaf-cluttered ground, then stretched out to allow Georgia better access.

  The wound stung and itched with every swipe of her gentle tongue, but Wolf lay quietly, aside from a few twitches he couldn’t help. Finally, she finished, and moved up to his face, licking his eyes, his ears, and his mouth. Showing love and deference. Granting him the privilege of being her alpha.

  * * *

  Abby woke the next morning to Reva’s text: Sorry for the sad text yesterday. I have to learn that we can’t save everyone. Mama deer looks okay this morning; still sad, but okay. Next came a picture of Reva sitting on the floor of a stall, petting the deer.

  Later that morning, Abby waited outside the aviary complex while Quinn unlatched the door to the lockout and went inside. The door, with its compressed-air spring, clapped shut behind him. After a moment of silence, Abby called out. “Can you tell who’s supposed to get which food?”

  “I’m not color-blind,” Quinn called back. She heard one of the metal cupboard doors slam shut. “And I did graduate from kindergarten, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Just checking.” For lack of anything better to do, she checked her phone and found another text from Reva. Mama deer looks okay and everyone says to give her time, but she isn’t doing well. Though her injuries are minor—cuts and scrapes and bruises—she won’t eat or drink. She misses her babies and knows they will die without her, if they haven’t already been killed by predators overnight. I’m calling an Uber and going to find those babies. Wish me luck. I may get kicked out of the program for doing this, but I have to.

  Abby replied to Reva: Be careful!

  Then she sat back and told herself to be patient about her inability to help Quinn with her farm chores. Waiting for Quinn to do the work was worse than doing the work herself. She hadn’t bothered to tell him that she usually prepared a bird salad for the morning feed. She figured she’d probably sneak back and feed them their salad in the afternoon, once Quinn left—and maybe after she’d had a nap.

  The aviaries consisted of four separate octagonal structures on a raised concrete foundation. The wire-covered enclosures were connected by a common lockout entrance in the center, a safe zone designed to keep birds from escaping. While each aviary had a walk-through door for humans, feeding could be done through smaller access doors to the food bowls and water bottles. Running water, an industrial sink, and a heavy-duty hose with an adjustable spray nozzle made cleaning the aviary complex one of the easiest farm jobs. Inside the safe zone, each wire enclosure was fronted by a tall metal storage cupboard (color-coded, of course) for food and other supplies.

  She realized that the birds’ sounds changed when Quinn fed them. The parakeets’ chirps went from frenzied excitement to contented chirps. The sun conures started talking in their high-pitched voices. Sun conures weren’t known for their ability to talk, but at least some of these six were able to produce a few words. “Hello, good morning,” a couple of them said in their automated-sounding voices. Another screeched, followed by a pretty-good rendering of “Are you hungry?”

  “Dammit!” Quinn yelled.

  One of the Amazons laughed and said in a surprisingly human-sounding voice, “Oops! So sorry!”

  A metal door slammed shut inside the lockout. “You fucking little fucker!”

  Without getting up, Abby moved the scooter forward to get a better view through the aviary wire. “Are you okay?”

  Quinn had wrapped a cleaning towel around his right hand. He peeled the towel back for a quick look, then pressed it to the wound again. “Damn bird’s got a beak like a can opener.”

  “Band-Aids are in the light blue cupboard with the cleaning products.”

  “Fuck you, too,” he said, his tone surprisingly light given that he might be missing part of a finger. “Band-Aids might not be enough to put my finger back together again, but I appreciate your helpfulness.”

  “Fuck you!” Freddy, the big macaw, yelled cheerfully. “Fuck all y’all!”

  Aunt Reva would kill her if Freddy started cursing again. A cursing parrot didn’t make a good steward for school field trips, and it had taken Reva more than a year after Grayson’s death to cure Freddy
of that habit. “Please don’t curse around the parrots,” Abby chided. “They’ll pick it up and start repeating it, especially when they shouldn’t.”

  Quinn peeled back the towel again, then opened the blue cupboard and rustled around.

  “I think the first-aid kit is on the second-to-top shelf,” she said. “Do you need help finding it?” She walked the scooter forward with her heels.

  “Don’t. Move.”

  The warning tone in his voice didn’t deter her, but the three stair steps that led up to the aviary did. “Okay. I’ll stay out here, if you say so. Just let me know what I can do to help.”

  “Try not to hurt yourself.” His voice sounded growly and just a little bit sexy. “That’ll do fine.”

  “If you want to wait till later to hose out the enclosures,” she called, “that’ll be okay.”

  He came outside and rammed the bolt home on the aviary’s door. “I’ll do it this evening. Isn’t it time for you to take a pill or something?”

  Actually, it was past time for her morning pain medicine, but she hadn’t wanted to take it until she and Quinn had finished the chores, because it made her sleepy. “Let me look at your hand.”

  He took the handlebars of her scooter and pushed her toward the house, wheelchair-style. “I’ll let you look at my hand if you’ll promise to stay inside the house and let me finish the chores in peace.”

  The paved walkway ended at a series of concrete stepping-stones surrounded by a sprawling ground-cover plant with deep-green leaves and purple flowers. With a huff of irritation, Quinn left the scooter behind and swept Abby up into his arms, then carried her the rest of the way to the farmhouse. Abby couldn’t resist the urge to lay her cheek against his shoulder and breathe in his scent. Though he’d been working all morning, his warm, damp skin still smelled of soap, and his silky hair smelled of cheap but fragrant shampoo—green apple and coconut; strange combo but nice enough.