All Jacked Up

by Mysti Parker

  The kids take turns showing me their haul of shiny, smooth stones they collected in their plastic sand buckets.

  “I have the most,” Amanda says matter-of-factly.

  “Mine are bigger,” says Arthur.

  “Well, mine are the prettiest,” Annabeth declares, one hand on her hip.

  I laugh and pinch her cheek. “I bet they are. Go wash up so you can eat.”

  “Are you feeling better?” Allison asks. She looks a little out of breath.

  “Yeah.” I glance at Astraea, who offers a brief smile. “Are you going to let your children eat hot dogs?”

  “They’re made with organic beef, no preservatives or hormones, so yes.”

  Astraea rolls her eyes. “I’ll go help the kids wash their hands. If Arthur’s anything like Adam, he’ll forget to use soap.” She herds the kids inside.

  Andrea gives me a hug, then holds me at arm’s length, scanning me with worried eyes. “You look pale, Ave. Are you okay?”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “Because you do,” Mom says.

  “It’s just a stomach bug. It’ll pass.”

  Andrea withdraws quickly as though I might have leprosy. “There’s been a resurgence of G-4 rotavirus in the region. Have you been around any sick customers at the store?” She’s about a half inch shorter than me with light brown hair a shade between Mom’s blonde and Dad’s dark brown. It’s always cut in a straight chin-length bob with bangs that hang right under her eyebrows. I don’t know how she can stand that.

  “No, I haven’t been around any sick people.” I sink into a plump-cushioned patio chair, resting my head against the back.

  “It’s that Chinese place,” Mom says as she tosses a salad.

  “Can you leave the radishes out this time?” Adam asks, peering skeptically into the salad bowl.

  “Radishes are good for you.”

  “If you say so.” He walks back into the house.

  “Are they organic?” Allison asks.

  Mom gives her a “bless your heart” smile, which everyone knows is southern for “screw you”.

  Adam emerges again with a bag of barbeque chips. I suspect he keeps a hidden stash in the basement. If Dad or the kids find them, they’ll be gobbled up in a flash.

  “So how’s that new husband of yours?” Andrea asks, pulling up a chair beside me. “Mom could have knocked me over with a feather when she told me the news.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve seen him around.”

  “Me too,” Allison says, “with other women.”

  Andrea gasps. “What?!”

  “Not recently,” Allison adds then grabs a carrot stick and looks plumb giddy when she crunches down on it. Maybe she’s imagining it’s a Snickers. Adam crunches down on a barbeque chip, intently watching our exchange like a hungry philosopher.

  “Good.” Andrea exhales. “I didn’t want Dad to go bonkers on him like he did with Astraea’s boyfriend.”

  “He is good-looking and rich,” Allison says. “Nice smile, good teeth.”

  Mom shakes her head. “No one’s teeth are that white. It’s not natural.”

  Groaning, I close my eyes and try to tune them out.

  “I hear he fosters kittens,” Andrea says.

  Eyes still closed, I shake my head and correct her. “That’s his brother, Jesse, but Jack has several exotic and special-needs pets up for adoption.”

  Andrea sounds shocked. “Oh. Exotics are dangerous. Reptiles and birds can harbor leptospirosis and Cryptococcus. I’d love to have a cat, but they can transmit toxoplasmosis. Very dangerous for pregnant women, and I could get pregnant at any time.”

  “Thanks for the info, Debbie Downer.” I open my eyes to see her husband, Greg, scrub a hand over his face. Poor guy. He must feel like an exhausted stud horse.

  Jack’s voice directly behind my chair startles me. “Actually, toxoplasmosis is very rare for indoor-only cats, and it’s only passed from fecal matter, so as long as you don’t change the litter box or let your cat outside, the risk is infinitesimally small. You’re more likely to get food poisoning from those hot dogs.”

  Andrea turns and stares at the fire pit as though the hot dogs might jump up and start spreading the plague.

  Adam pops the top on a soda. It fizzes out and onto his fingers. He licks it off. “Hey Jack, did you know Charles Dickens had a pet raven named Grip? It inspired Edgar Allan Poe to write ‘The Raven’. Unfortunately, the poor bird died after eating a paint chip. Probably full of lead.”

  “I didn’t know that, but I did raise a crow once.”

  “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  “No. Crows are similar to ravens but travel in larger groups whereas ravens tend to hang out in pairs. Crows are also smaller than ravens and make a caw sound, while ravens make more of a low croak. Proportionally speaking, they also have bigger brains than we do and can recognize faces. They can even hold grudges and pass them on to future generations. So you might want to think twice before you piss off a crow.”

  “Bruh!” Adam jumps up and gives Jack one of those high-five handshake things. “You are literally the dopest brother-in-law ever.”

  “Hey!” Allen says from his seat by the fire pit.

  “You’re dope too, bruh.”

  Andrea leans in and lowers her voice to a dead serious tone. “Lead can cause severe developmental delays in children. That’s why I won’t buy an old house like this.” She glances at Mom, who just shakes her head. We’re all used to the doom and gloom.

  Her smart watch beeps. She quickly looks at it, stands, then waves at Greg and points her thumb toward the house. Greg sits up, shoulders slumped, and ambles into the house behind her.

  Jack takes her place in the chair beside me. “What’s that all about?”

  “She’s ovulating,” Allison says like it’s no big deal. She opens a bag of veggie chips and pours them into a bowl.

  “Okay, so…” The realization dawns on his face. “Wow, just like that, huh? Seems like that would be hard to…um…maintain.”

  I nod. “Poor guy.”

  “Some women can get pregnant without even trying – doesn’t seem fair,” Mom says.

  “Tell me about it,” I mumble.

  Jack raises an eyebrow.

  “I just meant that you know, women like Leigh can’t even have kids, while Allison’s already on the fourth one in eight years.”

  Allison glares at me. “Well, some of us get married without even bothering to tell anyone. Excuse me, I need to check on my brood.” She marches inside, letting the patio door slam behind her.

  Mom purses her lips and shakes her head. She points the salad tongs at me. “I will not have you all fighting at my table. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I grab a handful of veggie chips so I can stuff my mouth and keep it from spilling out more inconvenient truths.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack

  You know how cats and dogs seem to gravitate toward people who don’t like them? The same must hold true for kids. I have Amanda on my right, Arthur on my left, and Annabeth just decided to crawl up on my lap. Of course, Avery and all the other women think it’s adorable, while the men are all chuckling. At least the kids are clean-ish this time.

  For now. They’ve somehow suckered me into rock painting after our meal. On the newspaper-covered picnic table are various creek stones, cups of craft paint, brushes, and paper plates. I pick up a stone. It’s cool and smooth, and reminds me of how Jesse and I spent hours at the creek when Dad was on a binge and wanted to use us as belt targets.

  “Uncle Jack, what color are you going to paint your rock?” Annabeth asks, blinking her big blue eyes up at me.

  “Uh, what color do you want?”

  “I asked you first.”

  Amanda leans in, lisping through the gap where her front teeth are missing, “Girls should do pink, and boys blue. Girls can also do purple and boys green.”

 
“I like orange,” Arthur says.

  “Orange is ugly.”

  Then an argument commences between the three of them over whether yellow is worthy or not. They get louder every second.

  “Hey!” I splay my hands out between them to referee the situation. They all stop talking. “The paint is going to dry out, so grab a brush and get to it. The rocks don’t care what color you paint them. Just paint what you like.”

  “See?” Annabeth says, sticking her tongue out at Amanda. This gets them going again.

  I look to Avery for assistance. “Are they ever quiet?”

  She grins. “Sure. When they’re asleep.”

  “Lovely.” I grab a cup of red paint and a brush and slather it on a rock. Annabeth smiles up at me, then dips her paintbrush in red as well. So do the other kids. Figures, the little copycats.

  Glancing up at Avery, I see her smiling warmly, her eyes glistening. I smile back then shape my red paint blob into a heart. Grabbing another brush, I blow on the red until it’s fairly dry, then paint Jack + Avery in yellow on the heart. I figure that’d be a good gesture for convincing her family that we’re a mushy pair of lovebirds. I put it in front of Avery and wink.

  She wipes a tear from her eye and sniffs. “Thank you, Jack.”

  Great acting on both our parts. Even Lorne, standing stoic at one end of the table beside her mom gives us a nod of approval.

  Then the kids all make hearts and attempt to paint Avery and my name on them. Amanda does a decent job of it, Arthur’s is barely legible, and Annabeth’s is a series of squiggles that look like yellow worms. They give them to Avery, who hugs them all in turn.

  It’s clear she adores them. I’m sure she’d be a good mom with the right guy. It is kind of sweet, I must admit. We keep painting until the sun starts setting and my leg is numb and sore from the wiggly weight of a three-year-old.

  “What’s with all the A names?” I ask Avery’s mother while the kids are painting quietly.

  Doris laughs. “All the best things are As, like grades, celebrities…”

  “Beef,” Lorne adds with a chuckle.

  She nudges him playfully. “I don’t know, really. We had Andrea, and thought Allison was a pretty name for her little sister, and the As just stuck.”

  I’m finding it hard to meet Doris’s gaze, knowing what she’s been doing in that locked room while presenting as a modest, pious homemaker.

  I turn my attention to Avery’s sister, who’s tucked up under her husband Allen’s arm. “So, then Allison continued the tradition?”

  Allison smiles, her hand resting lightly on her small pregnant belly. “My husband and I are both A names, too, so we didn’t want the kids to feel left out.”

  Andrea and her husband, Greg, look on with wistful expressions. I don’t know what it’s like to want kids that badly, or at all, but I know what it’s like to see other people all around you living the life you wish you had.

  Astraea yawns and stands up, stretching her arms way up into the air. She’s the only sister who seems to have taken after Lorne in height and build. “Well, I hate to paint and run, but I think I’ll head upstairs and veg out in front of the TV. Avery, want to come hang out?”

  “Hmm?” Avery jolts herself awake. Apparently she’d dozed off. It’s a shame that she’s so tired. Of course, maybe if she rests up…

  “Yeah, go on up with Astraea and get some rest. I can bring you some tea or something later.”

  She smiles sleepily. “Okay. Thanks, Jack.” She stands and lays a hand on my shoulder, holding my gaze long enough for me to know that she appreciates more than just me painting rocks with her nieces and nephew.

  The Shih Tzus, Huff and Puff, bark from somewhere down by the creek, so I look in that direction. Everyone else goes quiet and follows my line of sight.

  Doris wipes her hands and stands up. “Those silly things. They’ve probably treed a squirrel again. They think they’re big do –”

  One of them starts yelping. It’s the kind of yelp that is more than just play turned rough. It’s shrill and urgent. The other dog is barking furiously. Adam and Astraea run across the yard.

  Astraea grabs up one of the dogs. “Oh my God! Jack!”

  “Coming!” I stand up with Annabeth and hand her to Avery.

  “Go, hurry!” Avery says.

  I run to the creek. It’s getting dark. Fireflies are taking off from their resting places in the grass on their nightly quest to find a mate. I realize, as the grass gets longer, the weeds thicker along the path, that it would be harder to see a…

  “Snake!” Adam says, holding the other dog. “Right there under that bush. I think it bit Huff.”

  The dog whines.

  I take a quick look at him while Adam holds him. He’s not foaming at the mouth or having any labored breathing…yet. “Did you see what kind of snake it was?”

  “I don’t know. I just saw its eyes shining and the coil shape.”

  “We have a lot of non-venomous snakes in the county, so it’s more likely that it’s a rat snake or garter snake.” I get out my cell phone and turn on the flashlight function. Shining the light under the bush, I catch movement, and it doesn’t take long to spot the snake. It has a pattern of splotches in shades of brown which lets it blend well amongst the dead leaves and sticks. It coils tighter, drawing its head back. Scared, obviously, but definitely not the kind of snake you want to mess with.

  “Do you see it?” Astraea asks.

  “Yeah, it’s a copperhead.”

  Adam’s voice is shaky. “Oh no, do you think Huff will…?”

  I lay a hand on his shoulder as I sometimes do with clients who are upset during emergencies such as these. “I don’t know. It all depends on how much venom was in the bite, if any at all. At the very least, he’ll need antibiotics to prevent any bacterial infections.”

  “What do we do?”

  “It’s getting dark. Let’s go back to the house in case there are others around.”

  We hurry back.

  Doris covers her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my poor Huff. Will he be all right?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Astraea takes Puff inside.

  Lorne is holding a spade. “Where is it?”

  Why is that everyone’s first instinct when a snake is around? I swallow down my anger and stand in front of him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s not the snake’s fault.”

  “Like hell it’s not.”

  “Well, it’s not. They mate this time of year, so it’s not uncommon for them to come out more and be more aggressive than usual. There could be several in the area, so it’s not safe for you to be out there in the dark anyway.”

  “I’m not going to let that thing bite my grandkids.”

  Annabeth starts crying. Avery shushes her and looks at me, desperation in her eyes.

  “Lorne, I understand you want to protect your grandkids, but snakes are incredibly important to the Kentucky ecosystem. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have my friend Billy from the Kentucky Fish and Wildlife Service come out and see if he can trap some to relocate. Okay? But right now, we’re wasting time. I need to take Huff to the clinic so I can treat him as quickly as possible.”

  He narrows his eyes and finally nods. “Okay. Just do what you can for Huff.”

  I take another look at Huff under better lighting while Adam holds him. There are two bloody fang marks on his right front leg. It feels like it’s starting to swell. Huff is panting now.

  Avery hands Annabeth to Allison. “I’ll go with you.”

  Astraea brings a blanket from the house. I loosely cover one of Doris’s cloth napkins on Huff’s wound, giving her an apologetic smile.

  “It’s fine,” she says. “Do what you have to do to help him, but don’t you need a tourniquet?”

  “No, that can actually make things worse. I’ll get him to the clinic, but I think he’ll be fine. Copperhead bites aren’t usually fatal, but time is of the essence.” I gently take Huff from A
dam, wrap a blanket around him and take off for the car with Avery close behind.

  She holds him while I drive. But I try to not to speed because Avery’s anxious during car rides.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asks.

  Huff is panting harder now and whining.

  “Yeah. He’s a small dog and already symptomatic. We do have antivenin on hand, thankfully, but time is of the essence.”

  She looks at me for a while. “Then step on it.”

  “Okay. Hang tight.”

  I step on the gas and tighten my grip on the wheel.

  ∞∞∞

  Avery talks softly to Huff while I unlock the back door to the clinic and flip on the lights. I rush to the refrigerator and find the Crotalidae antivenin we use to treat all pit viper bites.

  “Bring him in here.”

  Avery follows me into an exam room, where I switch on the lights.

  “We’ll have to start an IV for the antivenin infusion.”

  She lays him on the exam table.

  I set the portable scale beside him. “Weigh him.”

  “Okay.” She gently unwraps him from the blanket and lays him on the scale.

  Huff is lethargic. He can barely lift his head.

  “Eleven point six pounds,” she says.

  “Okay. Hold his left leg still while I prep.”

  Huff whines again.

  “Am I hurting him?” Avery’s voice breaks. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re doing just fine.” I reach over and stroke her cheek.

  I grab the hair clippers, plug them in, and shave a patch of fur from Huff’s left leg. Then I find a bag of Lactated Ringer’s solution and prep the IV. After wiping the skin with alcohol wipes, I insert the IV.

  Huff whines and raises his head. He’s salivating excessively, but I can’t rush too much or I’ll do more damage.

  Once the IV is prepared, I add the antivenin and hang the bag from an IV pole.

  “How long will it take?”