“When you explain the situation, it makes it easier to understand.” She shook her head side to side. “I can’t even imagine how I would feel knowing someone killed my grandmother out of greed.”
I stared out over the park at the street. “I used to think Mabel was just a mean old woman who didn’t love us, but the more I learn about her, the more I realize she loved us more than we ever dreamed possible.”
My phone rang and I picked it up. “It’s Foster,” I said, answering it. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey, Lorenzo, I wanted to update you quickly before they take her back to surgery.”
I sat forward quickly, gripping the phone. “She needs surgery again?”
Cat put her warm hand on my leg as she listened to my side of the conversation.
“No, sorry, well yes, but not like you’re used to her having. Dr. Reed wants to look in her esophagus and stomach with the endoscope. By the description of her pain, he believes her Crohn’s may have flared up into the esophagus. He’s going to do the examination, and then we may have to change her medication or add back the one they discontinued after her last surgery.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “She was getting better they said.”
“Back then yes, but you know how this disease works. It can flare at any moment and be in any part of the intestinal tract. Dr. Reed promises we’ll be out of here in a few hours. The scope only takes a few minutes and she will have a light sleeping medication. I know you’re worried, but she’s doing better since we got here and they gave her something for the discomfort. She’s sleeping now.”
I nodded. “Okay, I’ll head back to the shelter and let my parents know. They should be home from work by now.”
“Lorenzo?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” I answered.
“Please ask them not to come down to the hospital. We’ll be out of here faster if they don’t. If they feel the need to help, ask them to go to the house and make sure the air is on and the house is cool. Cinn will need to sleep this off for the next day or so.”
“Of course, I’ll have them take Poopsie there and wait for you at the house. Keep us posted, okay?”
He promised he would and I hit the red button, flipping the phone off. “Sorry,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “I had to take the call.”
She kept her hand on my leg, but shook her head. “Don’t apologize. Cinn is my friend and I’m worried sick about her. What did he say?”
“Apparently, her doctor thinks her Crohn’s disease has flared up into the stomach and esophagus. He’s going to check with the endoscope and then change her medication depending on what he sees. The woman can’t catch a break.”
She frowned. “I wish I could do something to help. Cinn has always been good to me. I would like to repay the favor. What if I paint all three dogs and frame them for your family? Does Cinn have one of Brutus?”
I held my hand to my chest. “What a sweet offer, Cat. She does have one of Brutus, but it’s from Mabel’s collection. I know for sure they don’t have one of Brutus and Poopsie together. Maybe you could paint them as the best friends they are. I know they would love it since Brutus and Poopsie never leave each other’s side for long.”
Annabelle noticed Poopsie hadn’t joined her in the fun and came over to lay beside her, her head on Poopsie’s back. I pointed at them. “Maybe we should do all three together,” I said, laughing softly.
Without speaking, she lifted her camera and snapped several pictures of the two dogs from different angles. “Those two have to be the cutest, yet saddest, pair I’ve ever seen. It’s like Annabelle knows Poopsie is upset.”
“She does,” I agreed. “Poopsie has been around Cinn and Brutus long enough she knows when Cinn is ill. Annabelle has been around long enough to know when Brutus disappears, Poopsie needs a friend. When Poopsie sees Brutus leave she knows Cinn is sick and she’s instantly depressed.”
She nodded, but the smile on her face held sadness. “Buster had to be with me all the time, too. I miss him, so I know how she feels.”
I called Annabelle over and she pranced to me, cocking her head to the left and right as if asking what I wanted. Cat had the camera out already and snapped away as the little dog spun to face her. The whir of the shutter kept her wondering until Cat lowered the camera. “I think I have everything I need now. I can’t wait to get started.”
I snapped the leash on Poopsie and Annabelle. “I can’t wait to see them finished. Listen, I need to take the dogs back to the shelter and talk to my parents. I’m off tomorrow, since its Saturday. Would you like to have dinner together?”
She paused as she put her camera away in its case. “You mean me and you?”
I chuckled. “It’s usually what together means.”
She glanced down at the wheelchair and back to me. “Why would you want to go to dinner with me?”
I made a sound which sounded like a part-laugh part-snort. “Why wouldn’t I want to would be the better question. You’re gorgeous, vivacious, funny, and I would love to reconnect with you.”
She seemed embarrassed by the compliments, but sat up straighter in her chair and smiled. “Then I would love to go to dinner with you, Ren. What did you have in mind?”
“Leave the details to me. Where should I pick you up? What time works for you?” I asked, taking my phone out to make a note of her address.
“We might have to take my van because,” she motioned around the chair and I smiled confidently.
“We’ll be fine. Your chair will fit in my car, I promise.”
“Okay,” she said folding her hands. “If you’re sure, you can pick me up at 722 Hollyhock Lane. You can’t miss it, there’s a long handicap ramp to the front door.”
I made a note in my phone and glanced up. “Great, should I pick you up at say seven?”
“Sounds perfect, Ren.”
I handed her my phone with the contacts open. “If you put your number in I’ll send you a text so you have mine, too. Just in case something comes up before then.”
She typed in the number and handed it back to me. I glanced down and loved how she typed ‘Cat’ instead of Catalina as the contact name. I tapped out a quick text. ‘Can’t wait for seven o’clock’. She smiled when she read it then spun the chair around. She wheeled with me toward the gate, Annabelle helping her along by pushing on the back of the chair with her little head.
She spun around when we got to the gate and stared at the dog. “Is she a trained service dog?”
I laughed and opened the gate, helping her through and then the dogs before closing it again. “Not a trained one, though I figure she has spent enough time watching Brutus, she’s trying to act like a big dog.”
She ruffled Annabelle’s ears. “Maybe I should get a Saint Bernard like Brutus. A dog like him could pull me wherever I wanted to go.”
I laughed and patted her on the back. “Or he could drag you wherever he wanted to go.”
She grinned and gazed up at me. “You’re right, maybe it’s not such a great idea.”
I steered the dogs toward the parking lot as she wheeled. “Don’t get me wrong, Brutus is a great dog if you love four pounds of dog hair on your couch and four pounds of dog droppings in your yard.”
Her nose curled up and she laughed. “Poop patrol, the one thing I haven’t missed about Buster. Why don’t you have a dog, Ren?”
“I live in an apartment above Miss Mary’s Appletime Café. I couldn’t torture a dog by making it stay there all day and smell such great food.”
“I love Mary’s apple pie. It’s like a little slice of heaven,” she said rubbing her flat belly. She stopped alongside a van which had seen better days. The doors were dented, the fenders had turned the shade of crimson, and the windshield was pockmarked with age. She opened the side door and held onto the handle. “This is me. Thanks for keeping me company, Ren. I hope Cinn is okay once they get her medications sorted out. I wouldn’t mind a text later, if you g
et a chance, to let me know how she is.”
I patted her shoulder and nodded. “You can count on it. Do you need any help before I leave?” I asked.
“Nope, after all these years, I got this, but thanks.” She waved as I headed toward the shelter. I let my mind relish the feeling of her skin on mine for a moment.
The truth had become obvious. I had a man crush on a sexy, grown up Catalina Chávez.
Chapter Four
Last night I silently thanked Cinn for an excuse not to go out with the guys. I didn’t need an excuse, but I guess an excuse felt easier than confronting the truth. I’ve lost interest in hanging out in a bar and drinking. I’ve also lost interest in the guys I used to hang out with on a regular basis. It seemed the only things they cared about involved booze, babes, and baseball. I still enjoy all three of those things, but in a much different way than they do.
I no longer need booze to have a good time, and rarely have it in my fridge. I still love babes, but now a vision of Cat loomed front and center in my mind. She wasn’t a bimbo type babe though, she was all woman, a beautiful woman with expressive chocolate brown eyes. She made me want to stand up straight and be a better man. Whatever she saw in me was enough because we were going on a date in just a few hours. The final B, baseball, remained my one true love, but I found I liked it better when booze wasn’t involved. I played on an intramural team on Thursday nights, and coached Little League on Saturday mornings.
This Saturday morning, I couldn’t sleep and got up early to work. I had a few hours before I had to be at the ball field and planned to wait for the café to open so I could grab breakfast before I left.
Standing here the last three hours, one thing became abundantly clear. My perspective on life has done a complete one-eighty in a short time. After graduating from college, I found a job which kept me engaged and excited and therefore I found less excitement in the teenage behavior my friends still exhibited. There were many times over the last few years when I asked myself why I still hung out with them. I figured out the answer last night. Fear. If I let go and chose a new path, I had to do it alone. In the wee hours of the morning, I realized I had already done it. I was at a point in my life where I wanted to settle down, find a good job, and maybe have a few Little League players of my own. I know a few people would say twenty-four is too young to be thinking about starting a family, and for some it might be true, but not for me. I love everything about my big, loud, busy, loving family. It’s time I relax my no dating regulation I’ve had myself on for the last few years and get back in the saddle. Considering I had a date in a few hours, it was apparent my subconscious was already a step ahead.
I blew the sawdust off the flower I had finished carving and laid it aside. Next, I started working on the leaves for the rose, which were tiny and symmetrical. I would dye them green with a simple process of wiping on dye made from a mixture of wood oil and coloring. The grains of the wood would pick up the color differently. When I was done they would have the same patterns and colors of a natural leaf. I worked deftly with my knife, sculpting the first leaf and then making a nearly identical one, at least as identical as I could while carving it freehand.
I glanced across the workbench which took up the left wall of my apartment. I had all the pieces to the flower vase I made for Cat almost complete. The vase I carved from one block of wood, so the vase sat on the table and was fully three dimensional. After staining it, I drilled a small hole in the top, which would hold the flower stem when I finished it.
I found joy in creating beautiful things from wood. It didn’t matter what I was making or for whom, I got lost in the work. Of course, this morning’s activity was thoroughly enjoyable for obvious reasons. I suspected Cat would find a handmade flower far superior to a real one. I planned to give it to her tonight when I picked her up. While I sanded the leaves with fine grit sandpaper, my mind drifted to last night at Cinn’s house.
My parents were there waiting with Poopsie and Annabelle when I arrived. When Foster and Cinn pulled in she seemed surprisingly upbeat, but I figured it was the medication, and anesthesia, which hadn’t worked itself through her system yet. They reported Dr. Reed had indeed found the Crohn’s had flared up again and attacked her stomach and lining of the esophagus. He put her on several medications along with a liquid acid reducer. He told Foster she would see decreased pain quickly, but to modify her tube feeds until she could do the full amount without discomfort.
If I can say one thing about Cinn, it’s this; she always finds something to be thankful for even when life isn’t going well. She told me last night she was thankful for me and Foster being there to make sure she didn’t wait too long to get treatment. It made me feel good to know she doesn’t see me as her annoying little brother anymore. She respects me and doesn’t try to brush me off because I’m younger than she is. She and I have a much better relationship than Tabitha and I do. Tabitha and I tolerate each other, but putting us alone in a room together is a surefire way to start an argument. At least it used to be.
Tabitha was eight when I was born, which meant by the time I was old enough to really need her, she was in high school and not interested in what her pesky little brother had to say. Of course, I’ve heard from other people it’s a rare thing for the oldest and youngest to get along. I guess it fit our family, too. Lately, we’ve found more common ground as we worked together at the shelter. She sees I’m not a pesky little brother anymore and there’s merit and value to the things I say. I see she’s trying to turn her life around and find herself, which up until now I wasn’t sure would ever happen.
I wiped the remaining sawdust off the leaves and laid them on the counter, tapping a tiny nail into the bottom of each leaf. I would use the nail to hold while I stained the leaf and then use it to affix the leaf to the stem. Carving relaxed me usually, but this morning I didn’t feel relaxed. I was nervous and kept checking the clock, not wanting to miss breakfast or Little League.
Last night I had hoped since Cinn was in a bit of a drugged stupor she might tell me how Cat ended up in a wheelchair. She shook her finger at me and said if I wanted to know the answer to my question, I would have to ask Cat. Her one brow furrowed into a frown when I told her I would be taking her out tonight. I couldn’t figure out why, nor would she tell me, but I suspected it had something to do with Cat being her friend and she didn’t want her little brother to screw up her friendship.
I texted Cat last night when I arrived home from Cinn’s to tell her she would be okay once she got a good night sleep. We ended up texting for hours, about everything from music choices to political views. It surprised me she had many of the same views and likes as I do. Then again, we’re both Hispanic and we like the music of our culture. The one subject we never touched was what happened in her teens. I can remember her being at our house as far back as Cinn leaving to play with the bands when she turned fifteen, which meant the injury or illness happened at some point after she stopped coming around.
Since she’s older than I am, I never thought twice about not seeing her around school. She would have graduated long before I made it to high school. I set the parts of the flower out to dry and wiped my hands. If my nose could be trusted Miss Mary was up and cooking bacon. I grabbed my shirt and tugged it on, took my keys, and jogged down the steps to the café, two at a time. I would still have time to finish the flower, after Little League and a quick visit to Cinn’s, since there will be hours until my date. I liked the sound of the word date. It had been way too long since I’d been on one, but I hoped with all my might that tonight ended my losing streak, forever.
“Come on, Javier, you can do this,” I yelled, clapping my hands from the dugout as my youngest player came up to bat. He was nine, but didn’t look a day over six, and lacked confidence in his baseball ability. Regardless, he was my favorite player. He always wanted to learn, improve, and be the best team player he could be.
The pitcher wound up and threw the ball, Javier using every bit of conc
entration he had to decide if he should swing or not. At the final second, he swung the bat and the wood knocked as it connected with the ball.
“Run, Javier!” I yelled, clapping enthusiastically. He ran for first and with the ball still in the air, he rounded the base and headed for second. His foot touched the base at the same second the ball hit the second baseman’s glove, and the ump yelled, “Safe!”
The members of the Little Ivywood Roosters who remained on the bench jumped up to whistle and cheer as Darren strode to home plate with confidence. We were down to the final out of the game, but we only needed one run to tie the game and two runs to win it.
“You’ve got this, Darren,” I called, clapping in rhythm to the feel of the crowd. “Take it slow and easy. Don’t swing until you feel it.”
Darren dug his feet into the dirt and lifted the bat up, the tip wiggling in the air a little as he waited for the pitcher to get ready. The ball left the pitcher’s glove and it was outside, but Darren swung at it in a desperate attempt.
“Strike one!” the ump yelled, as he stood near the catcher.
I started clapping again, trying to get Darren to focus on my voice. “It’s okay, shake it off, Darren. You’ve got this. You know he likes the inside. Just be patient and you’ll get the right pitch.”
He nodded once, letting me know he heard me and waited in his stance. The ball sailed past again and he didn’t swing, instead trying to jump out of the way at the last second, but the pitch hit him on his shoulder. Darren dropped the bat as the ump pointed for him to jog to first base. He stood with one foot on the base and took his batting glove off.
I left the dugout and jogged to first base. “Are you okay, buddy?” I asked as he tucked his glove in his back pocket.
“I’m fine, Coach Dalton,” he said, twirling his arm around to the side, and back and forth, so I could see the shoulder still had good range of motion. “Tell Franny she needs to be careful on the inside with this guy. He’s all over the place. I think he’s tired. Tell her to knock it out of the park so we can go get pizza.”
Inherited Light_A Small-Town, California Romance Filled with Dogs, Deception, and Finding True Love Despite Our Imperfections Page 4