Inherited Light_A Small-Town, California Romance Filled with Dogs, Deception, and Finding True Love Despite Our Imperfections

by Katie Mettner

  She didn’t answer, but leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her to keep her from falling out of the chair and glanced at me.

  “I stopped in to say goodbye and found her sleeping on the desk. She told me her tube feeds are making her uncomfortable to the point she can’t sleep, and her stomach feels like someone is constantly punching her. She showed me the port and it’s not infected, but there’s a problem somewhere. I can feel it.”

  He nodded and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’ll call her doctor and have him meet us at the hospital or clinic. I noticed she was lethargic the last few days, but thought it was from working too much.”

  I could see he was beating himself up about not being more on top of it and I rubbed Cinn’s arm. She had snuggled into Foster’s chest and was sleeping again, even with both of us talking.

  “She’s sleeping,” I said, alarm bells going off in my head. “I think you should take her straight to the ER and let them call the doctor. Something is wrong. You have to trust me with this.”

  He nodded, and patted my shoulder. “I trust you when it comes to her. You’d never do anything to hurt her.” He scooped her up into his arms. “Will you help me get her into the shelter van? It’s easier than my Bug.”

  I motioned for him to go first and then followed, Brutus and Poopsie bringing up the rear of the parade. I helped him get her situated and her seatbelt on and then picked up Poopsie as Brutus sat next to me, a low whine in his throat.

  “I’ll keep the dogs here until Mamá and Dad get home. I’ll fill them in and leave the dogs with them. Keep us posted and let us know if we need to come to the hospital.”

  He shook his head, opening the back door for Brutus. “I’ll need to take Brute. He’s allowed in with her since he’s her therapy dog. She’s going to need him and he won’t settle down for you knowing she’s sick.”

  With Brutus in the back seat, his head hanging over the front to check on Cinn, Foster angled into the driver’s seat.

  “Okay, but keep us posted, please,” I said again.

  “Will do, thanks Lorenzo,” he said, his lips in a thin line as he drove away from the shelter like a man on fire.

  I stared down at the dogs around my feet and frowned. Since everyone else had left, I had to take care of Foster’s dog, Poopsie, and my parents’ dog, Annabelle, until my parents got home. The shelter was full with adoptable dogs, so I couldn’t put them in a kennel and leave. I would have to wait it out upstairs in the apartment. I couldn’t leave Poopsie alone since Foster took Brutus. She would flip out and bark nonstop without him by her side. The two were rarely apart and she had been around Cinn long enough to sense when she was sick. When Brutus left her, she understood there was a problem.

  “Everything okay, Lorenzo?” Kerrigan asked as I strode toward the front of the building.

  I shook my head slightly. “Foster had to take my sister to the hospital. I’m worried sick about her and I don’t want to leave the dogs here in a kennel. Poopsie is already freaking out since Foster took Brutus with him.”

  She rubbed Poopsie’s chin and gazed into her eyes. “You’re right, she’s on edge. I would keep them, but I think she would cry for hours even with Annabelle with her. If you don’t mind taking care of them until you hear if you need to go to the hospital, it’s probably the wisest choice. If you need to go, I’ll take them,” she promised.

  I nodded. “Thanks Kerrigan, I’ll keep you posted about Cinn. I know you two have become good friends.”

  “We have, and I should have noticed she didn’t feel well. In hindsight, I saw it, but she’s incredibly stubborn.”

  I chuckled for the first time in an hour. “I hadn’t noticed,” I said, rubbing Poopsie’s back. “Don’t feel bad. She hides her pain and illness well, she always has. Foster noticed, but chalked it up to working too hard. Unfortunately, Cinn has always gone downhill quickly, which makes it hard to catch anything early. One day she’s fine, and the next she’s in the hospital. We’ve been through this before and she’ll be fine once she gets treatment.”

  She paused as if she was going to say something, but finally blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll be praying. Keep me posted. I’m here all night.”

  She headed back to the kennels and I made my way to the front of the building. It was only a little after four and I hesitated at the steps to the apartment. Maybe I should take them to the dog park for a bit. If they ran and got their energy out, they might be willing to sleep once we got back to the apartment.

  I grabbed two leashes from behind the counter and hooked up Annabelle and Poopsie. The park my grandmother funded, and then deeded to the humane society, sat on a little less than an acre of land only a few blocks from the shelter. It was a short jaunt, and on a nice day like today, it might make all of us feel better. “What do you say, girls?” I asked, holding the door handle of the shelter. “Should we go to the park?”

  My goofy, dog happy tone made Anabelle jump and twist for joy, but Poopsie looked up at me, her eyes sad and her body sagging. I threw open the door and urged the girls out, my shoulders slumped as we started the trek to the park.

  “I know how you feel, Poopsie. I know exactly how you feel,” I whispered.

  Chapter Three

  I’ve loved strolling around Little Ivywood for as long as I can remember. As a kid, it was easy to find something to do in town. I was always riding my bike with friends to the pool, hanging out at the park, or playing in the old caves lining the back of town. It was easy to make our own fun in Little Ivywood. Don’t get me wrong, I loved working with my hands and building things, but I saved those activities for winter when the cold chased us inside.

  Since my childhood, Little Ivywood has morphed into a busy metropolis. Friday nights are alive with kids on bikes, campers and boats heading to the campground, and old men in convertibles with the top down. I live in the kind of town that exudes personality. While the people in the town contribute to that, Little Ivywood controls it. There’s a bustling business district, a strong church presence, and active volunteers in all aspects of the citizen-run city. Today, as the sun shone down, almost baking you with its heat, I was overwhelmed with pride for a city I had no desire to ever leave. Maybe it sounds childish and immature, but it’s true. I attended vocational school in San Diego and let me tell you, I’m not a big city kind of guy.

  I prefer a slower pace. I like knowing most of the people in the town, and volunteering in the community to keep Little Ivywood a safe place for future generations. I’m starting to think I inherited my love for community from Mabel. She always had the best interest of Little Ivywood in her heart when she did something to improve it. Take the dog park for instance. She didn’t need to buy the land and build a dog park, but she did because she wanted a safe place for Little Ivywood canines to play. She also hoped once people started using the park, it would be a place of camaraderie and community for the canines’ humans. She bought the land, paid for the fencing and all the equipment inside the park, and paid for advertising to promote it. The summer before she died she even installed a small fountain for drinking, a bottom spigot for dogs and a top one for humans.

  A few years back, the humane society honored Mabel at the dog carnival by dedicating a bench in her name. It now sits under the large maple tree shading the owners while their dogs played. I didn’t know Mabel well, but the more I learned about her, the more I know the person she pretended to be, wasn’t the real deal. The woman she showed the world was fashioned from fear and a bravado she didn’t feel. It’s a shame she’s gone now. If she was still here, I would make a bigger effort to break through her tough exterior and learn more about her. Then again, if she hadn’t died would any of the things she’s done have come to light? When she died, we had no idea her death involved a madman’s plot to take the land the park sat on and dig it up to search for buried treasure. We learned he used his father’s notes and correspondence to find the land where it was said his father left a for
tune under the soil. Those notes led him to the land Mabel owned. When she refused to sell it, he took matters into his own hands and killed her to get it. He also blackmailed my sister Tabitha into poisoning the dogs at the park by tossing in treats laced with antifreeze. Poopsie was the first to get sick, but thankfully, she pulled through. Malik Dearing was responsible for orchestrating chaos in our lives and I was glad he would never see the light of day again.

  I unhooked the gate and threw it open, the dogs thrilled to be off their leashes to romp through the grass. Well, Annabelle was anyway. Poopsie never left my side, and when I sat down on Mabel’s bench, she lowered herself to the ground and rested her head on her paws. I picked her up, and ruffled her ears.

  “It’s okay, Poopsie. Cinn will be fine once she sees the doctor. She’ll be back with Brutus in a few hours and you can love on her for the rest of the night.”

  “What’s wrong with Cinn?” a voice asked.

  I snapped my head up and stared into the face of an angel. The sun shone through her golden-brown hair and threw shadows on the face I hadn’t stopped thinking about since yesterday.

  “Hi, Cat, it’s nice to see you.” I didn’t stand because I was eye-to-eye with her as she sat in her chair. “Foster took Cinn to the ER. She’s oddly lethargic and told us her stomach hurts all the time.”

  Cat frowned and locked the wheels on her chair. “I noticed yesterday she seemed tired. I feel terrible for staying so long now.”

  “Don’t, please. Cinn will always downplay her illness because she doesn’t like it to define her.” I checked my phone for a text from Foster, but there was nothing. I held the phone up. “Nothing from Foster yet, but they only left half an hour ago. She’ll be fine in a few hours, I’m sure.”

  Cat patted her hands on her lap. “The expression on your face tells me you aren’t as cool about it as you’re trying to pretend.”

  I shrugged my shoulder and focused on Poopsie. “She’s my sister and I don’t like seeing her in pain. It’s never easy and there’s always the small worry she’s in real trouble. She almost died once and it’s all I think about when she gets sick enough to go to the hospital.”

  I gazed around the dog park to avoid making eye contact with her. She laid her hand on my arm and squeezed it gently. “It’s okay to be upset and worried, Ren. You don’t have to pretend you aren’t when you’re with me.”

  I nodded once in acknowledgement and tried to smile. “I know it’s not manly to be scared, but I am. If you had seen her and held her in your arms, you’d understand. I could feel how sick she was and I’m angry she’s let it go this long.”

  She shook her head slightly and leaned forward, her arms propped on her thin thighs. “As a woman like Cinn, I understand why she does it. She’s trying to have a normal life, Ren. You’ve got to cut her some slack.”

  I crossed my arms and stared out across the park. “She’s never going to have a normal life. I wish she would understand she’s putting the wonderful life she does have at risk when she refuses to seek treatment.”

  “I don’t want to argue with you, Ren. I understand where she’s coming from and I understand where you’re coming from. I do. Will you keep me posted on her progress?” she asked

  I nodded and squeezed the hand I had picked up off her lap. “Of course I will. If you stick around for a bit, Foster will probably call or text.” I held her hand, but stared out over the park, wondering which dog was hers.

  “I don’t have a dog,” she admitted, knowing exactly what I was doing. “My dog, Buster, died about three months ago. I haven’t had the heart to get another dog.”

  I laid my hand on her leg, which was thin and bony under her pants. “I’m sorry, Cat. Losing a pet is hard. You take as long as you want to grieve.”

  She shrugged a little and kept her gaze trained on Annabelle romping around the park. “It’s not so much I’m still grieving for Buster, as I’m unsure if I’ll be able to find another dog who could do the same things for me he did.”

  “Was he a service dog?” I asked, absently soothing Poopsie in my arms.

  She did the so-so hand. “Not by definition, but he somehow sensed I needed more help than the average person. He used to do all kinds of chores a trained service dog would do, but he never had any official training. I miss him like crazy, but I must be certain if I get another dog, it’s intelligent and observant. I can’t have a dog on my hands who doesn’t understand my situation.”

  I nodded. “Sure, sure, I see what you mean which leads me to my next question.”

  “If I don’t have a dog why am I here?” she asked and I laughed unabashed.

  “And you read minds, too,” I said, winking.

  “I’m a wildlife artist, Ren,” she said slowly and I hit myself in the forehead with my palm.

  “Of course, duh, I’m sorry. I suppose this is a great place to find subjects to paint.”

  She held up a camera and smiled. “I take pictures of the animals then download them to my computer so I have a reference point for the painting. You’ll never get a dog to sit still long enough to paint them, which means I have to rely on my camera and mind’s eye.”

  I rubbed my hands on my pants, dog hair flying in the breeze from working at the shelter. “I understand because I do it, too. Sometimes, if I’m at an antique shop or flea market, and see a piece I like, I’ll take pictures of it with plans to recreate it.”

  “I guess we both create art, huh?” she asked and I shrugged.

  “I like to think I do, but what you do fits the definition far better than my efforts.”

  She shook her head slightly and leaned toward me from her wheelchair. “I don’t think so, Ren. Art is art, in my opinion. My guess is you’re incredibly talented in woodwork or you wouldn’t be building the addition for the shelter when you’re barely out of school.”

  I chuckled and let Poopsie go then leaned back against the bench. My tired back needed something to rest against after a long day. “You’ve been talking to Cinn.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, her hands coming together and clapping once. My memory hit on a time when the same laughter spilled from her at my childhood home when I said something funny. Warmth spread through me at the memories of those times when she hung out with my sister and her little brother by default. I’m not so little anymore, and she grew into a knockout.

  Her laughter faded and her gaze roamed from the top of my head all the way to the bottom of my Doc Martins. “Cinn brags about you nonstop, Ren. She’s incredibly proud of you and your success.”

  “I had no idea,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat, wondering if they had tinged pink. “Cinn and I have always had a special relationship, which is why I struggle when she gets sick.” I stopped short of telling her exactly why. I wasn’t ready to share my inner secrets with her just yet. “I’m all grown up now, but sometimes Cinn forgets I’m not six anymore,” I said, more for her benefit than mine. I had to know if she saw the man I had become or the kid I used to be.

  She shook her head and her eyes told me she had no doubt. “You’re anything but six, Ren. You’ve grown into an incredibly handsome man and I can’t stop thinking about you and your family,” she said shyly, glancing away toward the grass where Annabelle was sitting primly. “She’s a beautiful dog,” she said pointing, obviously changing the subject.

  I called out and the pup ran, her salt and pepper colored ears flopping, toward me. “This is Annabelle,” I said, picking up the dog, so Cat could pet her. “She decided she liked my parents and didn’t want to leave their apartment.”

  Cat gazed up at me. “She’s a shelter dog?”

  I nodded. “She was transferred here from a different town and Foster found it odd she hadn’t been adopted. He let her roam the shelter rather than be in a kennel because she was well behaved and loved people. My parents live in the apartment above the waiting room and one day Annabelle found her way up the stairs. She scratched on the door and when Maḿa opened it, she marc
hed in and made herself comfortable. She hasn’t left since.”

  Cat made a cute ‘awww’ sound and rubbed the dog’s chin. “She has such expressive eyes. I would love to paint her.”

  “You would?” I asked, as Annabelle craned her neck so she could snuffle my chin with her wet nose. “Mabel always had drawings of her dogs on the wall. Maybe my parents would love to have one of Annabelle, too. I would hire you to paint it as a housewarming gift. They moved in not too long ago, and I know they would love to keep the tradition alive.”

  “Who’s Mabel?” she asked confused.

  I moved so she could see the back of the bench I sat on. “Mabel,” I said, motioning to the inscription on the back of the bench which read, ‘In Loving Memory of Mabel Dalton’. “Mabel was my grandmother.”

  It was like a light switched on and she put her hand to her mouth. “I remember hearing something about a woman who was killed over this park, but I had no idea it was your grandma.”

  I nodded, setting Annabelle on the grass to play and leaned back again. “She was killed by a mobster who believed this land was where his father hid the family riches. He blackmailed my older sister Tabitha into poisoning the dogs at the park so the shelter would close it down and sell it. It backfired on him, in a big way.”

  “And she did it?” she asked, shock and disgust filling her voice. “Why didn’t she go to the cops?”

  I gave her the palms up. “She was scared. He had pictures of all of us, including one inside Cinn’s house, and at the hospital where Cinn was being treated. He threatened to kill Cinn if she didn’t do it. He threatened to hurt my parents and run me off the road. He isn’t a nice guy, and she was petrified of him hurting us. She swears she didn’t know antifreeze killed dogs; she thought they would get sick, but nothing worse. She was sick over it and when it all came apart, she was a mess. It doesn’t excuse her behavior; she had choices, but however he threatened her, she truly believed he would hurt us. Most people in town have forgiven her for her mistakes. She’s spent a lot of time making it up to the people of Little Ivywood by working with Foster to better the facility and educate others.”