The Big 5-OH!

by Sandra D. Bricker

  In the kitchen sink, she used warm water and gentle blue dishwashing liquid to cleanse the mud from the cat's fur. Then she cradled its massive body, wrapped in a terrycloth towel, and transported it to the bathroom counter, where she used her own comb and blow dryer to finish off the deed.

  Knowing full well how ridiculous the whole scene was, Liv chose to choke back the objections, offenses, and off-color zingers that raced across her mind in deference to the higher road. It would be so much easier for Clayton to find Morey in this condition than to find the muddy heap of dead cat that Boofer had brought home.

  The rain hadn’t stopped, but it had at least let up. The sky was murky gray and green, and Liv hoped that the dark gloom of the morning would camouflage her movements. Clutching the clumped-up towel, she set out down the driveway.

  Please don’t look out the window. Don’t look out the window. Please don’t look out the window.

  Her frantic wishes pounded against her brain in perfect rhythm with her steps as she tromped across the street, over the sloshing lawn, and up the three front steps. She took a deep, shaky breath and creaked open the porch door, and then unfolded the towel and carefully rolled Morey's corpse to the floor in front of a wooden rocker with a Tampa Bay Buccaneers pillow angled into the seat.

  She used both hands to mold the cat into a circle, and she rubbed one finger along the length of his nose.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered and then folded the towel over her arm and took the first step toward her hasty retreat.

  But before her escape could materialize, the thing Liv feared most happened. The front door flew open, and Clayton whooshed through the doorway toward her and whacked her hard on the arm with the back of his hand.

  “What’d ya do?” he shouted, and his narrowed eyes burned a hole right into her. “First, you tell Doc Hunt you don’t want me swimmin’ in Josie's pool, and now this? What’d ya do, ya dern fool?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Clayton, I’m so sorry.”

  The old man pushed past her and seized Morey's lifeless body from the floor and cupped the cat with both hands.

  “Get outta here ’fore I call the cops and have you arrested!”

  “Clayton, I’m—”

  “Out!”

  Liv rushed through the door, barely clearing it before Clayton yanked it shut with a bang.

  “Don’t you ever come back here again!” he yelled.

  Liv just stood there on the lawn, looking back at the house, her pulse thudding in her veins, tears standing in her eyes, and rain pouring down over her. A clap of thunder punctuated the slam of Clayton's front door, and she turned around and started across the street.

  It was only then that she noticed Jared making his way toward her, a jacket draped over his head.

  “What was that all about?” he asked her. “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t answer him. She just let him shelter her beneath the jacket as they hurried up the drive. A clap of thunder crashed, and Liv took off running, leaving Jared far behind her as she ran into the house.

  “Olivia?” he asked once they were both inside.

  Liv turned toward him and opened her mouth to speak, but she burst into sobs instead.

  “What? What is it?” he inquired, letting her fall against his chest before circling her with his arms. “What did Clayton do?”

  “Do?” she sniffed. “He didn’t do anything. I did it.”

  “What did you do?” he asked with tenderness as he looked down into her eyes.

  “It's too horrible. I can’t tell you.”

  “Okay,” he said at last. “Why don’t you go and get into some dry clothes? I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

  “Boofer killed him, Jared.” The words just detonated out of her, and then Liv covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Killed … who?”

  “Morey.”

  “What?”

  “Clayton's cat. Boofer got outside, and she killed the cat and dragged him back here. He was all muddy and dead, and I didn’t know what to do, so I washed him up and I took him over, and I was going to leave him there on the porch so Clayton wouldn’t know it was my fault. It was a horrible thing to do, I know it. I’m a horrible person, Jared.”

  His laughter caught her off guard, and Liv scorched him with an angry glare.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he collected the chuckles as they rolled out toward her. “I’m sorry. But Boofer didn’t kill Morey, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “No. She didn’t. Morey died last night, and I helped Clayton bury him under the shrubs in the front yard.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Liv, Boofer didn’t kill the cat. But I’m guessing she dug him up.”

  The power was back on in the neighborhood so, as Liv dried her hair and changed into fresh clothes, Jared took over the kitchen. While a fresh pot of coffee brewed, he lowered English muffins into the toaster and sliced a few mushrooms and an onion into a skillet. Once sautéed, he added half a dozen eggs and pushed it all around into a scramble.

  “That smells so good,” Liv said as she hopped up to the stool on the other side of the counter.

  Her cheeks were pink, and her red curls framed her face like a halo. Jared felt a flutter overtop his ribs when their eyes met and a smile spread across her porcelain face like warm butter on hot toast.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  He poured her a cup and slid it toward her, then watched as she doctored it precisely with milk and sugar.

  “Feeling better?”

  “I am,” she told him. “But I’m going to have to go over and talk to Clayton to explain.”

  “I’d wait a day or two on that,” he suggested, vowing to make it over before she had the chance and try to pave the way.

  “I feel horrible, Jared. The poor old guy buries his beloved cat, and this dog digs the thing up, drags it home, and I wash and fluff its fur.”

  Boofer slipped under the counter and laid her chin atop her paws with a whimper.

  “Bad dog,” Liv snapped.

  “But not as bad as you thought, right?”

  “True.”

  Jared coaxed the eggs out of the pan onto a couple of plates, and then transferred the English muffins.

  “Hey,” he said as he rounded the counter and sat down on the stool beside her. “Which day is your birthday, by the way?”

  “Never mind,” Liv replied with a chuckle, and then took a bite of eggs. “Mmmm. Very good.”

  “Thanks. Now the birthday question?”

  “I think I answered you.”

  “That wasn’t an answer.”

  “It just wasn’t an answer you liked. But it was an answer.”

  “C’mon. When is it?”

  Liv slid off the barstool and padded into the kitchen. “I want jam. Do you want some?” And then she shot him a wicked grin that felt like a hot branding iron.

  “None for me,” he commented, a forkful of eggs poised in front of him. “It's okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just call Hallie and ask her.”

  The comment had the desired effect. Panic rose in her green eyes faster than he could swallow his eggs.

  “Friday,” she said. “Happy?”

  “Thrilled. How about I host a little party for you?”

  “A party!” she exclaimed, and then she laughed at him. “Who would come?”

  “Clayton, maybe?” he teased.

  She pretended to take a playful stab at him with the butter knife in her hand, and then she shook her head.

  “I’d really rather just let my birthday float on by, if you don’t mind.”

  “If we whisper, it won’t know we’re here?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I happen to think your life is worth celebrating,” he told her, and he hoped she didn’t gauge the high level of sincerity behind the words. “We could have a barbecue or maybe a little gathering at a restaurant on the beach.”r />
  “Jared. Let it float,” she said, waving her hand past him like a helium balloon caught on a breeze.

  They sat beside one another eating their breakfast in silence, until Liv reached over and squeezed Jared's hand.

  “My birthdays are a disaster,” she said, turning toward him and leaning in. “Every year. And I came down here to try and escape it—change the tide a little.”

  “A celebration dinner with total strangers isn’t different enough for you?”

  Their eyes met, and Liv choked back her coffee before they shared a laugh.

  “Fine,” he continued. “No party. How about we cruise over toward the lighthouse and go snorkeling at Edison Reef? Just the two of us. Then I’ll grill up some steaks down in the galley, and we’ll watch your birthday float by.”

  “Deal,” she replied.

  “Deal.”

  10

  The water rippled across the Enchanted Pond, and Prudence kept a watchful eye on its surface.

  “Are you looking for something?” the stallion asked her.

  “Yes,” she told him without so much as blinking. “Something unexpected.”

  “You’re expecting the unexpected?” he inquired, and then he shook his dark mane vigorously. “I don’t understand.”

  “Something's going to happen,” Prudence declared. “And I want to be ready when it does.”

  “Well, that's just absurd,” said the beautiful horse. “Expecting the unexpected makes the unexpected expected. So it's not unexpected anymore.”

  Prudence jiggled her head from side to side as she tried to figure that one out. “Is that a riddle?” she asked.

  “I think you’re the riddle, my donkey friend.”

  Once it had cooled, Liv sliced the nine-by-twelve-inch pan of pumpkin cake into squares and transferred them to a large plastic plate she had found on the top shelf in the pantry.

  “Low in fat, low in sugar, high in taste.” That was the way Hallie had always described her special pumpkin cake recipe. When Liv looked for something to bake and take over to Clayton's house beneath a waving white flag and a sincere apology, it seemed like the perfect choice. If he slammed the door in her face and the offering made a round trip back home, at least she wouldn’t gain too much weight when she ate the whole thing by herself.

  This must be what it's like to mosey, she thought, realizing that she was meandering across the street, plate and proverbial hat in hand, at a snail's pace.

  “Lord, I know it's been a while since I’ve prayed, but … please don’t let him injure me in any way. You know how fragile I am, and I really think the old man could take me.”

  Climbing the couple of stairs to the front door was like scaling a mountain, and she raised her hand to knock at the door. Before she could lay knuckles to wood though, the door flew open and Clayton stared her down.

  “Whadya want?”

  “Mr. Clydesdale, I want to apologize.”

  “What for?”

  He wasn’t going to make it easy.

  “For everything,” she replied. “For the misunderstanding about the pool—”

  “Misunderstanding,” he coughed. “You not wantin’ me there is pretty clear, young lady. No misunderstanding there.”

  “And about the … your … about Morey.”

  His face fell so fast at just the mention of his cat's name that it made Liv want to cry.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He didn’t say anything for what seemed like an hour; he just glared down at his feet as if they’d done him some terrible injustice. “That all?” he asked, finally.

  “Well, I made you some pumpkin cake,” she told him, holding the plate out before her, feeling as though she needed to prove it to him. “I thought maybe we could have a cup of coffee and share a piece.”

  The old man glanced up at her, one eyebrow much higher than the other, his mouth pursed far off to one side.

  “Can I come in?”

  Clayton seemed to be thinking it over, and then suddenly, he yanked open the door and left it hanging there while he wandered off toward the kitchen.

  “Don’t have any milk. You’ll have to drink it black.”

  Liv stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “That’ll be fine,” she said as she hurried into the kitchen after him. “Maybe just some sugar?”

  “Got no sugar neither.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, black is good. Nothing wrong with a nice, strong cup of black coffee.”

  A few seconds later, Clayton set down two steaming mugs, both of which bore the Tampa Bay Buccaneers logo, and one of which had a chip missing on the rim. Hers, of course.

  He plunked two plastic Bucs plates down on the table and helped himself to the cake, leaving Liv to fend for herself.

  “I wanted to explain to you about the pool,” she said.

  “No need. Doc Hunt told me all about it.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be swimmin’ laps in his pool until Josie comes home.”

  “Well. All right.”

  He softened, but only slightly, his fork in midair as he said, “You’re on vacation, and you don’t need to be startled first thing in the morning by me.”

  “Well—”

  He crammed the fork into his mouth and shook his head.

  “Josie's been gone a long time now.”

  It hadn’t been such a long time. Liv realized that Clayton must really like Josie.

  “She’ll be home soon.”

  “Good cake.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad you like it. It's Hallie's recipe.”

  “How is Halleluiah? She ain’t been down here in a gap o’ time. Guess she's pretty busy with all them kids.”

  “I don’t know how she does it. She's a pro at keeping up with all they have going.”

  “Nice girl, Hallie. You tell her I like her cake.”

  “I will.”

  Liv grinned and took a bite of it herself, and then held her breath as she washed it down with a sip of the thickest, blackest coffee she’d ever tasted. She had visions of it eating through the lining of her stomach upon arrival.

  “Also,” she began, and then wished for a second that she hadn’t, “I wanted to explain about the other day. With Morey.”

  “No need. Doc Hunt explained that too.”

  “He did?”

  “Yup. Said you wouldn’t be havin’ a meal with me neither. But here you are with cake.”

  “A meal?”

  “I mighta said I was thinkin’ about that. Maybe havin’ a lunch or a supper with ya.”

  “Oh.”

  “The doc nipped that idea in the bud.”

  “He did?”

  “Says you’re not interested in lunchin’ or nothin’ else with me. Seems like maybe he's the one wantin’ to take you to supper.”

  “Well,” Liv began, and then she sighed and gave her temple a swift rub with the back of her hand. “Clayton. I just wanted you to know … I just wanted to say to you … that I didn’t realize Morey had … passed away.”

  “Yup. You figured that mangy dog o’ Josie's killed him.”

  “Well, yes. That's what I thought.”

  “And you figured I’d get over that as long as you cleaned him up real nice.”

  The way he was looking at her caused Liv to spontaneously burst with laughter. “It seems kind of strange now that I hear you say it.”

  Clayton plucked another square of cake from the plastic plate and dropped it to his own.

  “Anyway, I’m just so sorry, Clayton. I really am. About everything.”

  “I believe you,” he snapped. “That's enough apologizin’.”

  “Okay.”

  “You wanna go out for supper?”

  Liv grinned. The old guy was nothing if not persistent.

  “No, thank you, Clayton. But I appreciate the thought.”

  “Whatever. Your loss. I still got moves, you know.”

  “I can see that.”

  The s
ilence that followed was broken with the soft clank of fork to plate, the slurping of coffee, and then the thump of Clayton's cup back to the wooden table. Liv searched her mind for something, anything, to stir up some conversation.

  “You sure do seem to like the Buccaneers,” she said. “That's a football team, right?”

  Clayton lifted one eyebrow and then peeled an odd smile across his face. “Tampa Bay Buccaneers, woman. 2003 Super Bowl champions. Raymond James Stadium, the Crown Jewel of the NFL. Ring any bells?”

  “Sorry.”

  Clayton groaned as he downed the rest of the coffee from his team's cup.

  “I’ve never been much into sports. Except for figure skating.”

  “Figure skating!” he exclaimed, and then he clamped his eyes shut and shook his head. “That ain’t a sport, girl.”

  “It is,” she insisted.

  “Nope, not a sport, with all that twirlin’ and leapin’.”

  “But there's a beauty to the twirling and leaping, Clayton. It's art on ice.”

  “Hockey. That's art on ice.”

  Liv chuckled. Clayton smacked the table so hard that she jumped, and then they both laughed.

  “Does Tampa have a hockey team too?”

  And there went that silver eyebrow again, straight up into an arch over his narrowed gray eye.

  “Tampa Bay Lightning?” he clucked.

  “Also a jewel of some kind?”

  “Not lately, no.”

  “So what's this I hear about our Randall getting serious with someone?”

  Jared looked up from his desk and peered at Georgia over the rim of his glasses.

  “He had a date scheduled with Edna Stanton's granddaughter for this weekend, and he called her and canceled, saying that he’d met someone and it was getting serious.”

  Serious. Now there was a word Jared couldn’t quite wrap his brain around when used in association with his son's love life. “Really.”

  Georgia slipped down into one of the chairs flanking his desk and tapped her pointy pink fingernails. “And Lila and Joe spotted him at the mall in Fort Myers with a young, petite blonde. Do you know the girl?”