For You (The 'Burg #1)(93)

“I’ll call Doc,” I heard Dad mutter because they knew, if Mom couldn’t calm me then I was inconsolable and they were right, I was.

If I’d been coherent I would have been surprised at how fast Doc got there. One second he wasn’t there, the next second Dad and Mom got me up off the couch and Dad and Doc guided me down the hall. They laid me in Colt’s bed and I cried to Doc, whispering now, telling him all my secrets, all of Colt’s, sharing way too late.

He injected me with something and it worked quickly. He sat next to me on the bed as the peace he gave me through a syringe stole over me. He pulled up the covers and slid the hair from my forehead.

“Like I said,” he mumbled, “the dog was dead. Shoulda left him buried.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled back, a calming darkness creeping in around me, “dog was dead, Doc. Denny killed it.”

Then I was out.

* * * * *

I woke up on my side, my legs curled up, Wilson in a ball in the crook of my hips.

I came out of it slowly as I lay listening, hearing the murmur of voices, knowing I wasn’t alone in the house. Too many voices, all of them speaking low but I knew there wouldn’t be that many and the tone wouldn’t be that calm if something bad had happened to Colt.

It was growing late, I knew from the feel of the day. I’d been out awhile. But I didn’t get up. I lifted my hand, stroked my cat and he started purring.

I had a lot of experience with animals. We’d had dogs and cats growing up. I’d learned a long time ago both canine and feline had one thing in common. They sensed a shit storm, they weren’t the type to go running. They stuck close. The worse it got, the closer they stuck.

So I lay in bed for a long time, kept my head clear and pet my cat.

Then I got up, went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, pulled a brush through my hair and went to my bag, changed the yoga gear I’d put on that morning to a pair of jeans, belt, t-shirt.

Then I sucked in breath, went to the bed, lifted Wilson in my arms and walked out of the room.

Al was sitting at the bar, Meems beside him. The smell of Mom’s spaghetti sauce filled the air, she was at the pot stirring, Jessie had her head in the fridge.

I walked though the living room with Meems’s eyes on me. I looked to the left and saw all four of her kids lounging in front of a muted television set.

“Hey Auntie Feb!” Tyler called.

I dropped Wilson to his feet, waved at Tyler and smiled.

Kids, too, sensed shit storms and Tyler’s returning smile was cautionary. That kid loved me, all Meems’s kids did. This was because I spoiled the hell out of them and usually encouraged their bad behavior because it was never that bad and because Mimi and Al knew every kid had to have that one adult they trusted beyond anyone just in case life took them to a place where they’d need that trust and the wisdom only someone older could give. That was the brilliance of being the kidless best friend, you got all the good shit, never had to put up with the bad and the devotion that came from that was like a priceless treasure.

“Now Feb’s up, does that mean we can turn up the volume on the TV?” Meems’s oldest, Jeb, shouted.

“It’s Aunt Feb, Jeb,” Meems corrected, Jeb having decided he was now too old to call me “Aunt” and Meems having decided that she didn’t agree, a battle that obviously still raged. “And no,” Mimi finished.

“Aunt Feb, Jeb. Aunt Feb, Jeb,” Maisie chanted, most likely in an attempt to simultaneously annoy her mother and brother, her favorite pastime and one at which she excelled.

Maisie was Meems and Al’s third child, the long awaited daughter. First came Jeb then came Emmett then came Maisie. Meems had been so overjoyed she had a daughter she thought her luck had changed and broke her rule of only three kids (which meant breaking her rule of only two kids, she’d made the third attempt to get a girl) with the hopes of evening out the gender balance in the house. But along came Tyler.

Meems lucked out though, Maisie was as much of a girl as you could get. So much so, even though Al, Jeb, Emmett and Tyler were about as boy as you could get, Maisie still helped Meems settle the balance of the house with the sheer amount of nail polish she had lying around; not to mention her butterfly stickers which were stuck to everything; and her hair barrettes and ponytail holders with sparkled ribbons attached to them; her glitter pens littering every surface; and her bobby pins with bees and ladybugs on them laid here there and everywhere. Meems’s house looked like a little girl tornado swept through it. The odd GI Joe doll and baseball mitt didn’t stand a chance.

“Shut up, Maze,” Jeb snapped as I hit the kitchen.

“You shut up,” Maisie retorted.

“No, you shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

Good God, I’d had that same argument with Morrie about a million times when we were kids. If my life wasn’t a certified disaster at that moment, I would have felt the beauty of a world that changed all around you in ways you couldn’t control but still stayed exactly the same in ways that were precious.

“Kids,” Al said and at that one word, both kids shut up.

I looked at Mom who was still stirring but was now looking at me.

“Where’s Colt?” I asked.

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked back.

I nodded and repeated, “Where’s Colt?”