by R. L. Naquin
Bump sat up straighter, pointing at Glob. “Taked the shiny from the white hairs, but Bump needed it more.”
“No!” Glob said. “White hairs gived. Glob keeps the shiny for himself. Bump cannot have to keep. Only for looking!”
The two were animated, waving their arms around and making pinched faces at each other. My eyes adjusted, and I could pick out the creatures from their surroundings a little better.
“Guys, come on,” I held out my hand, palm up. “Hand it over. Let me see the shiny.” Bump cast his eyes to the floor, and Glob looked triumphant. “Bump?” I said.
Bump got up, looking for all the world like a small child being forced to go to bed. He moved to a corner of the shed, frowning and miserable, and removed a dusty tin box decorated with a Norman Rockwell Santa. He dug through it, casting squint-eyed glances at us over his shoulder, then replaced the box. The way he dragged his feet was dramatic and petulant. I hid my smirk.
Bump dropped a clip-on pearl and diamond earring into the palm of my hand. It looked real to me and very old.
“Glob, where did you get this?”
“White hairs gived.”
“Did she know she gived—gave it to you?” Much longer with these guys and my head was going to explode in a shower of broken grammar.
He ducked his head. “Might know.”
I stared at him until he met my eyes. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
His head shook once, and he looked away.
“You need to give it back. She’s probably very upset and sad that it’s lost.”
A single tear slid down Glob’s face. Bump looked upset, too.
I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. “Look, guys.” I sat down on the floor with them. “I want you to take the shiny and put it exactly where you found it.”
They started to protest, but I held up my hand to stop them. “No, it’s not yours, and you know it. If you do this, I’ll give you something else. Something better. Okay?”
That perked them up.
I took my purse from my shoulder and set it on the floor between us. I had no idea what I had in there to give to them, but my purse was sure to yield something they’d find valuable.
The bag had been a gift from Molly and her kids for giving them a place to stay. I’d been complaining about my old, gigantic bag-o-crap that ate everything I dropped into it. I’d also left a book of fabric samples out on the counter. The next day, the book was missing, and I had a new purse. A small, patchwork affair, with a special feature—the inside was far, far bigger than the outside. I jammed a lot of stuff into that little bag. I had yet to find a limit to how much it would hold.
I reached in and pulled out the first thing that touched my fingertips. That was another part of the magic my brownie friends had woven into the bag. No matter how many different things I jammed in there, whatever I needed was right at the top.
This time, the purse knew what I needed, even when I didn’t. Out came a hairclip, long since cracked and useless, but still mostly covered in rhinestones. All three gremlins gasped in unison. Bump reached forward with one finger, hoping to touch it.
“Mine?” he asked in a timid voice.
I smiled and handed it to him. “Yours.”
Glob moaned in disappointment.
“Wait,” I said. “There’s something in here for you, too.”
I reached in, hoping for another miracle, and pulled out a pink and black, zebra-striped plastic bangle. Glob was so excited he twitched and bounced up and down. I handed it to him, and he hugged it tight.
Bink sat next to me, staring down at his hands, solemn. He didn’t expect anything, I guessed, though he was the one who brought me here to keep his brothers from hurting each other.
I dipped my hand into my purse, hoping for something extra special. My old Christmas scarf trailed out, dangling loose threads of silver and red and gold. I held it high and let it pool into Bink’s lap. “This is for you, for being so brave.”
He looked up at me, his eyes wide, and simple, uncomplicated happiness poured through my filter in warm waves. Bink strung the impossibly long scarf around and around his neck. I wondered how well his camouflage would work with the silly thing on him, but he strutted around like he didn’t care.
I placed the stray earring that had started it all into Bump’s hand and folded his fingers around it. “Now, you put this back, yes?”
He nodded his head. “Bump is generous. Give shiny to white hairs.”
“No more stealing.”
He sniffed and skittered off. I tried to follow him with my eyes, but once he was several feet away, I couldn’t make him out anymore. When I looked, the other two were gone, too.
I stood and brushed myself off. There was a run in my hose, but that was pretty standard for me, even on a consultation. That’s why I usually wore tights rather pantyhose. I needed the extra thickness so they’d last longer. I yanked my blue and green skirt down below the run and kept moving.
Andrew fell in behind me, and we headed into the front door of The Raintree Retirement Home. When I was a kid, my grammy was in a nursing home toward the end of her life, and I remember visiting. I didn’t know anything about being an empath then, I only knew that my tummy hurt whenever I entered the dreary, quiet building. I felt sad and lonely and sick, and though I loved my grammy very much, I hated going.
This was something entirely different. This didn’t feel sad and lonely, it felt more like a vacation rental. People were laughing and talking. They played games and watched TV, and visitors passed in and out without looking frightened or gloomy. This was not a hospital. This was a home.
Andrew made a beeline for a cluster of chairs around the corner from the reception desk. A sweet lady with a round face and dancing eyes sat waving her hands, beckoning him over. Next to her, a portly man with a handlebar moustache and blue suspenders hoisted himself to his feet. When Andrew approached, the man engulfed him in a bear hug, patting him on the back and grunting his pleasure at seeing his grandson.
After he was released, Andrew bent over and hugged the lady, though he did so carefully, as if she were made of more delicate stuff than her husband. When they let go of each other, Andrew knelt on one knee next to her and cradled her gnarled hand in his.
Of all the emotions that leaked through to me every day, the best was family love. Even with my barriers partially up, I basked in the love coming from Andrew and his grandparents, and the temptation to tear down my walls and let it overwhelm me was hard to resist. These three clearly cherished each other. Since my father’s death, my life lacked this kind of bond, and I wanted very much to share it for the brief moments I had with them.
And then I was in a bear hug from Andrew’s grandfather, Martin, and I didn’t know how I got there. “We’ve heard so much about you, Zoey. Andrew talks about you all the time.”
He gave me another squeeze, then led me over to meet his wife, Sophie. I knelt down next to Andrew and took her hand in mine as gently as I could.
They were wonderful people. If I hadn’t already been empathically bathed in the warmth of their love, I would have felt it anyway, simply because they shared it so readily with those around them. Martin doted on his wife. He couldn’t go more than a few minutes without touching her, brushing a stray hair from her face, stroking her arm, resting the side of his leg against hers. And her eyes lit up whenever she looked at him, as if there were nothing in the world she’d rather be doing than sit and listen to the sound of his voice.
As much as they loved each other, they still had time and attention for others. A good-looking guy in khakis and a blue polo shirt brought us a tray of tea and cookies. He slid the tray on the table and tried to slip away, but Sophie wouldn’t have it.
“Daniel,” she said, “have you met my grandson, Andrew?”
Daniel smiled and nodded. “Sure, Sophie.” He glanced at Andrew and looked away. “We’ve met several times.”
“Andrew’s gay, you know,” Sophie said, nodding her head with enthusiasm.
Andrew looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.
“Yes, I think you’ve mentioned that.” Daniel’s eyes darted around, trying to find an escape. Sophie wasn’t done.
“Why don’t you join us? I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.”
Andrew’s face was pink. “Gran, I’m sure he’s got a ton of work to do.”
Daniel agreed, taking the excuse. “Yes. Lots of work to do. Visit with your family, Sophie. If you need anything, let me know.” As he walked behind the grandparents, he turned and winked at Andrew. Andrew’s pink increased three shades.
This amused me, and I made a mental note to poke him about it later.
“Gran, you’ve got to stop doing that,” he said.
Her eyes sparkled. “I just want you to be happy, honey.” I got the distinct impression she wasn’t trying to set him up at all. She was teasing him. Not in a mean way, just playful. I thought it was hilarious.
“I am happy, Gran.”
“You live alone with a fox. That’s unnatural. You need human companionship.”
“When the right one comes along, but not until then. How can I settle for less when I have you two for role models? You set the bar pretty high.”
Martin slid an arm around his wife’s waist and planted a soft kiss on her temple. “He’s got you there. We do make it difficult.”
She patted Martin’s cheek and smiled. “It’s not so hard. You can love anybody if you set your mind to it, even a grumpy old walrus who leaves his whiskers in the sink.”
Andrew shook his head. “You say that, but I don’t think it works that way.”
Sophie turned her attention on me, and I was cornered. “What about you, Zoey? I don’t see a ring on your finger. When are you going to dig in and live happily ever after?”
I tried to shrug off the question. “I’m waiting until I learn to make better choices in men. My track record isn’t very good.”
Sophie leaned forward across the table and took my hand. “Sweetheart, once you accept how special you are, you won’t want anything less than what you deserve. The wrong boys know how to manipulate a girl who doesn’t understand herself. Know who you are and what you’re worth, and you won’t notice those boys anymore.”
It felt like she was looking into my soul. Maybe she was. There was no telling what special gifts she might have, considering her grandson could see auras. Or maybe she only possessed the wisdom of age and a long marriage.
I smiled to let her know I understood and would think about her advice. “Sophie, how did you two meet?”
It was a good subject changer and I could feel Andrew relax along with me.
“When I was sixteen,” Sophie said, “my older brother Jack brought this skinny friend of his home for dinner. He was a mess. Clumsy, unshaven, and he spilled gravy on my mother’s good tablecloth. I loved him the minute I saw him.”
“She nearly bit my head off that night,” Martin said. “When she said anything at all, it was to ask if I were hoarding the rolls for the other homeless or was I going to pass them around as if I had manners. She was a spitfire. And for the record, I was not homeless.”
Sophie sniffed. “You looked it.”
Martin grinned and moved his arm around her. “But you loved me.”
“I felt sorry for you. You obviously needed someone to take proper care of you.”
“And a sixteen-year-old spitfire was the one to do it, I suppose.”
Over the next hour, they told a story of Martin going off to war to drive an ambulance, Sophie’s refusal to entertain suitors while he was gone (despite Martin still being clueless that his friend’s baby sister was in love with him), and ultimately, their wedding day, fifty years ago next week.
This brought us around to my reason for being there in the first place. We talked a lot about their first wedding day, and I took copious notes—there’d been daisies and baby’s breath for the bouquet, butter-yellow bridesmaid dresses, sunshine linens and chairs. It had been a simple ceremony, and a smallish reception, but lovely in its simplicity.
“The only thing I regret is my earrings,” Sophie said. “I kept them all these years, hoping to wear them again on our golden anniversary, and now I’ve gone and lost one.” She patted a small broach I hadn’t noticed on her blouse. “I have the other one here, so I don’t lose it, too.”
It was, of course, the match to the gremlin’s shiny.
I gave her a reassuring smile. “Sophie, I have a feeling it’ll turn up soon. Don’t you worry.”
Chapter Thirteen
Milo was ecstatic to see us when we got to the shop. I sat on the sofa, going over my notes, while Andrew took him out for a potty break. When they came in, he looked grim, and he wasn’t alone.
“Ah, Miss Donovan. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” Murphy O’Doyle, now with three matching flunkies, entered the shop like he owned the place. The two new thugs spaced themselves around the room, and Fargo stood in the open doorway.
“You know,” I said, standing up, “I’ve had enough of your opportunist terrorizing of my friends. Aren’t you ready to move on to another town yet?”
Andrew stood behind O’Doyle, holding Milo and shaking his head in warning. I guess he didn’t want me provoking them. But seriously. I’d recently faced down an incubus, a reaper, and three great white sharks. It was going to take more than leprechaun swagger to intimidate me.
O’Doyle blinked. I didn’t think he was accustomed to people standing up to him. “I’ve come for Mr. Shipley’s answer, and hopefully, his payment. I dislike ugliness as much as the next man. And while I’m here, I suppose I can save myself a trip and get your answer as well.”
“Absolutely. Save yourself the trip. My answer is no.”
His eyes narrowed. “Very well. Your failure to cooperate is noted.” He tapped a note into his phone, then tucked it in his pocket and turned to face Andrew. “Mr. Shipley, I assume you have more sense than your friend here. Will you be handing over an item or cash? If you prefer, I do accept a personal check. With proper identification, of course.”
Andrew swallowed hard. “I don’t have any of that to give. My answer is going to have to be no, as well.”
O’Doyle shook his head. “Unfortunate. Very unfortunate. Is this your final answer?”
Andrew nodded. “It’ll to have to be.”
I took a step toward Andrew. “Wait, are you sure?” I couldn’t force him to take my money, but my brain was filled with crashing glass and exploding space toilets. “You can pay me back. Take as long as you like.”
His smile was a small, timid thing that only touched the corners of his mouth. “It’s okay, Zoey. Don’t let them win, remember? It’s the principle.”
The small man pulled his phone out again, made a note, and put it away. He snapped his fingers, and one of his flunkies sidled up beside him with a large burlap bag I hadn’t noticed before.
O’Doyle made a show of straightening his coat, his hand brushing against the decorative, gold shamrock pinned on the lapel, then looked inside the bag. He made thoughtful noises and rummaged around for a minute. “Ah, yes. This.”
Something hissed, and he pulled a black cat out by the scruff of its neck. Milo made a low growling noise from the back of his throat.
The leprechaun moved a few feet to Andrew’s left, dangling the cat at arm’s length, then let go. The cat crossed directly in front of Andrew, snarling as it went. Milo barked a high-pitched yip and leaped free. Andrew tried to grab him, but the lure of the running cat was too much.
The cat circled around and headed for the open doo
r in a blur of midnight fur. Milo followed, gaining ground. They both disappeared out into the street.
Panicked, Andrew and I tore after, my heart beating hard. The squeal of tires and honking of horns set my feet moving faster.
“Milo!” I screamed.
Cars swerved everywhere. I caught sight of the cat as it made it across the street and disappeared down an alley.
Milo stood in the middle of the road, traffic on either side of him, still making sharp barks in the general direction of the no-longer-present cat.
A short space appeared between cars, and he made a dash for it.
A blue sedan pulled away from the curb at the same moment, also taking advantage of the gap in traffic.
It happened too fast. I felt my feet running, but I wasn’t getting there quick enough. Andrew darted ahead of me. He was too slow, too.
The driver couldn’t see Milo. The fox was up under the car before the driver registered that he’d hit something.
I heard the thunk.
I heard Milo’s squeal.
And I heard myself screaming.
Andrew, so sure of himself around injured people and animals, stopped short and turned his back. He bent double and put his hands on his knees for support.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” he said in a nearly incoherent stream. “Please, Zoey. Please tell me he’s okay.”
I ran around the car to the other side and found Milo, shattered and bleeding on the pavement. A sob stuck in my throat, and I knelt down beside him.
There was so much blood. His beautiful, fluffy tail and his left foreleg were crumpled at nauseating angles. His right ear, his lovely, enormous, velvety-soft ear was torn beyond anything recognizable. I touched his damp fur, stroked his cold nose.
I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. I could barely see through the tears filming my eyes.
He wheezed a gurgling, miserable sound, and the tip of his tongue slipped from his mouth and licked my fingers. Somehow, this was worse than finding him dead. He was so tiny and wrecked, and he couldn’t possibly understand why he hurt so much.