Three Meows (Monsters For Her)

Chapter Twenty

O n Sunday, Chester made another attempt at getting along with my father.

“Sir, would you like to go fishing?” he asked.

This time Chester interrogated Seth beforehand about what my father liked, so I wasn’t surprised when my dad agreed. There was a slight displeased twitch on father’s face at the company, but he was a man who would never pass up a chance to practice his favorite pastime, no matter the circumstance.

I wished Chester all the luck with his endeavor but also…

“I think we should keep an eye on this excursion,” Elijah decided, and I jumped to my feet, ready to follow after the pair because yes, the probability of something going wrong was too high for me to ignore.

“Are you coming with us, Rowan?” I asked.

Rowan shot me a bored look from where he was sprawled on the couch with a book in hand and pointedly turned the page.

“Alright, geez, I can see you are too cozy to move. Let’s go, Elijah.”

We found the unlikely pair at the shack solely dedicated to fishing equipment and hunkered down to be covered by the nearby bushes. A few minutes later, Chester emerged carrying a bag full of supplies while my father carried the fishing rods and the bucket for the to-be-caught fish. We trailed after them far enough to not be spotted and hid once my father stopped at the edge of a lake. With the way the trees near the water were sparse, we couldn’t risk getting close enough to hear the conversation, but we could read the body language.

“Oh boy,” I winced as it became clear Chester’s initial success did not translate to actually getting along with my father. Both men looked tense and ready to snap. Chester was chattering away, but that likely only made things worse.

We watched this clusterfuck in motion for several minutes before it came to an explosive conclusion. Chester made a face when he was given a live, wriggling worm to put on the hook and refused to do it.

“Then fuck off and stop wasting my time!” father bellowed.

“Fine! Fishing is stupid anyway!” Chester threw his hands up and stomped away, back in the direction of the house.

I would be more worried about him getting lost on the way, but he was a cat. In fact, he changed into Cheddar when he was out of my father’s sight and ran away.

Dad was pinching the bridge of his nose when I looked his way. Then his shoulders slumped, and he looked at the prepared fishing site and the two foldable seats with such sadness it made me feel bad for him.

The sight had to have an effect on Elijah as well because he bit his lips and thought about something hard before his brows smoothed out as he came to a resolution.

“It’s my turn,” he said and hefted up the pack of beer we took as an excuse for why we were here in case we got caught.

My brows rose up to my hairline, but I didn’t stop him as he got out of our hiding spot and approached my father.

I watched as Elijah passed the beer over, no doubt using the spiel we prepared about how I noticed they didn’t take any drinks with them and sent Elijah with the delivery, and then started to ask questions about the fishing equipment.

Father brightened immediately and animatedly started to explain everything. In no time Elijah was given his own rod and, lo-and-behold, he passed the test of the worm without a pause. Huh. This could actually work.

I watched as they settled in for long hours of fishing. Dad made a remark or shared his knowledge from time to time, but, otherwise, the two men were fine with silence between them, only the calming sounds of nature around them.

When dad broke the silence the next time and it looked like it was going to be a longer conversation I scooted closer, close enough to hear what they were saying, banking on the fact my father was going to keep his eyes forward and wouldn’t look behind.

“Do you make good money from your writing?” I heard father ask.

“Good enough.” Elijah shrugged awkwardly. “What I care about is that there’s a rising trend. The more books I push out into the world, the easier it is to make a living of them. But it takes quite a while to do anything by myself.”

“By yourself?” father repeated, his gaze darting from the fishing line to Elijah. “Doesn’t your publisher do everything for you?”

Elijah laughed.

“Oh no, sir. I publish my books myself. I pay the editors, formatters, and cover artists, but the writing, marketing, admin, and everything else is on my head.”

Dad looked at Elijah for a long moment.

“…do you want a publisher? I could get you one.”

“Thank you, sir, but no. Self-publishing gives me more control over my own business.”

“Ha! That’s right!” Father slapped Elijah’s back. “A good decision. Having your future in your own hands is important.”

I smiled into my scarf seeing the interaction. They were going to be alright. As quietly as I came, I disappeared into the forest, ready to sit by the fireplace with a grumpy orange cat who didn’t get his way.