The Things We Water

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

“Y ou both look like… how do I say this? S-h-i-t. You both look like s-h-i-t,” I pretty much giggled in front of Sienna and Matti the next morning.

There were few things better than being right.

And even fewer than when you could be smug about it.

Duncan had already been awake for close to an hour by the time we’d left our room to find out why his second and third favorite people weren’t texting us back. By that point, I’d been awake for almost two hours. I’d woken up feeling off, groggy and flustered, like there was something I should’ve remembered that had happened in the middle of the night, but I had no idea why.

I hadn’t dreamt. I went years between dreams. So long, I forgot their details but not the way they’d all made me feel, or what the voice that talked to me in them each time sounded like. It made no sense, and the problem was that no one I’d ever spoken to about it had ever really believed me when I said I didn’t dream to begin with. They all thought I just couldn’t remember them.

That wasn’t the case.

Whatever had happened overnight, I’d woken up earlier than normal, unable to shake off the imaginary spiderwebs that left me feeling off. Once I gave up trying to go back to sleep, I tried making a plan for all the small things I needed to figure out sooner rather than later while Duncan chainsawed it up beside me. Then I’d showered again, even though I’d done it last night after we’d come back inside. I used the unscented soap I always washed with, so used to limiting my scents around sensitive noses for most of my life.

Then we’d gone to pee, and finally went looking for these two, only to find them on their death bed.

Sienna groaned from her spot beneath the covers, next to Matti who had his arm thrown over his eyes as he made the same sound. “We both had loose stomachs. You didn’t?” she moaned.

“No, but I told you not to buy those hot dogs at the gas station, didn’t I? And didn’t you tell me, ‘ We never get sick, Nina. I’ve got an iron stomach ,’” I reminded her with a tone that got me two middle fingers. I laughed and leaned against the doorframe. “You guys are gas station noobs. You never eat the hot dogs or get the nachos,” I reminded them of the exact words I’d used at the time.

“Shut up, Nina,” Matti muttered, lifting his arm just enough to give me a peek of a dull eye. “I feel like my ass gave birth to two ten-pound babies.”

I snickered, and even Sienna snorted before moaning. “Don’t,” she got out in between her own pained sound effects.

“Yeah, Matti, don’t make her laugh. She doesn’t need to shart in someone else’s bed. I’m trying to make a good impression here.”

He groaned at the same time as she grabbed a throw pillow from the floor and tried to chuck it at me. It hit the floor between the bed and bedroom door. They really were sick to be that weak.

“Want me to bring you anything?” I asked them, deciding to be nice.

Their responses came in the form of more groans, which I took as a “no.” From the glasses of water next to their nightstands, I knew they weren’t going to get dehydrated. I should probably bring them some salt from my camper to replenish their electrolytes.

I’m turning into a mom , I realized right then.

I peeked down at the calm puppy sitting next to my right foot and smiled. His tail was wagging, the flame on it small and dark blue. He’d rolled over once in the middle of the night, he’d slept so good.

“All right, we’re going to figure out breakfast. Henri said to be down there at….”

They weren’t listening. Or maybe they couldn’t hear me over their groans.

“I have my cell. Let me know if you need something, okay? I’ll wipe Sienna’s butt, but I’m not wiping yours, Matti, until you’re at least in your seventies,” I told them before backing out of the room as another throw pillow went flying through the air. “Love you, guys,” I called out, shutting the door of their room before making eye contact with my donut. “Well, Dunky, I didn’t want to go downstairs by ourselves, but we’ve got no choice. Might as well get used to it. At least we have each other.”

He tilted his head, his “yes” a reminder that we were in this together.

We had changed tires in the worst conditions of every season, we’d come across brown bears on hikes, and we’d been stranded in the middle of nowhere once or twice overnight.

Duncan and I had been through some stuff.

Neither one of us might have been cowboys, but this wasn’t our first rodeo, and we were a team.

Team Duncan Donut.

We were going to have to acclimate eventually and meet people without Matti and Sienna. That part was non-negotiable. So, with my boy by my side, we headed downstairs. There were sounds coming from every direction. I hadn’t asked how they handled the whole eating situation with the people that lived here. Last night, the four of us had dinner in my trailer while we’d grabbed our bags. The elder with the glasses, Franklin, had been vague about how many people lived in this building. Did they all share food? Did everyone buy their own groceries and put names and labels on their things? I had questions. The only people I’d ever lived with were my parents and Sienna.

“Good morning, Nina and Duncan.”

I turned in the direction the voice was coming from. Down the hall, the elder who gave us a tour yesterday dipped his head in greeting. I lifted my hand. “Good morning.”

It was clear from the absence of puffy facial features that Franklin had been awake for some time. In a button-down shirt with a maroon vest over it, tucked into khaki pants, his glasses riding low on his nose, he made me think of a librarian. He looked so… disarming.

For some reason, I didn’t trust that impression.

And I noted again, like I had confirmed during our tour yesterday, that I couldn’t sense his magic.

I was confident I’d seen a bracelet on his wrist. His long sleeves hid any trace of one at the moment too. What was he? Would Henri tell me what he was if I asked?

“Was your room comfortable?” the elder asked.

“Yes. It’s perfect, thank you.”

His nod was a little stiff, at least I thought so. “I’ll escort you to the kitchen. Henri is making eggs, and it’s a real treat when it’s his turn to cook for us.”

I could not make a face at the idea of mountain man Henri making eggs for more than just himself. So I pressed my lips together and nodded. “That sounds great.”

The older man waited for us outside a cracked door—with a smaller doggy door at the bottom—that a quick peek inside confirmed was a bedroom. His, I imagined. The only thing visible was a sliver of a bed a little bigger than a twin, and it was made. Franklin smiled when Duncan stopped at his feet. The older man reached down to scratch the top of his head. “How did the handsome boy sleep?”

The handsome boy stretched up to bump his nose against the man’s hand in his own answer.

He couldn’t be so bad if my boy was being affectionate, could he?

Plus, I was a sucker for Duncan compliments. He might seem suspicious, but he had good taste. “Great. He didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.” He’d slept across my chest for half of the night, and I’d barely been able to breathe, but I was never, ever going to complain about it.

Franklin nodded before gesturing for me to follow him to where he’d explained yesterday the kitchen was located. When we had gotten thirsty last night, we’d gone to my trailer and gotten water from the five-gallon jugs I refilled at grocery stores instead of wandering around. I wasn’t shy, but I hadn’t been ready to treat this place like home so soon.

“Do you have questions?” The elder turned to me. “We went over things quickly yesterday.”

That was a relief. “I was actually just wondering right now… how many people live in this building?”

“Three of the elders call the clubhouse home, myself included. We’re all on the first floor, along the hallway there where you found me. The others are both offsite at the moment, visiting their families. One of the children also has a bedroom by ours.” He hadn’t mentioned that last night. “On the third level, there are two unmated members of the community who either choose not to live with their family members or don’t have that option.”

I felt that comment in my soul.

“The homes we have on the property are reserved for members with family units.”

“What counts as a family unit?” I asked.

“An adult and a child, or a married couple. Two or more constitutes a family,” he replied. “You and Duncan would after your trial period.”

We got to the end of another hallway, the smell of cooked meat getting stronger the closer we got.

Duncan even sped up to a trot, his nose tipped up high, his tail sticking straight up in the air. He almost looked like he was prancing.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket a little and snapped a picture of him.

Franklin kept talking. “Since there aren’t many of us, we set up a meal schedule for breakfast and dinner. It’s more convenient, so we aren’t stepping all over each other and there aren’t arguments about cleaning pots and pans.”

I nodded, listening… but also keeping an eye on Prancer over here. His ears were so long they were inches from dragging along the floor. It was so precious.

Even more adorable was the way I could faintly hear him saying, “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” in excitement from whatever he smelled that he was thrilled about.

“There’s a monthly calendar in the pantry where you can sign up to make breakfast or dinner when you can, along with what meal you’re preparing. Our only request is that you decide twenty-four hours in advance. If someone doesn’t want to eat it, they don’t. We understand sometimes someone is busier than normal, so we don’t have a minimum or a limit on how many times you do it as long as you do. Be fair about it, that’s all we ask. Some days, everyone is on their own.” Brownish-greenish eyes met mine. “Will that be an issue?”

“No. I like cooking,” I confirmed, pondering over their schedule. “Are we in charge of paying for groceries ourselves or does everyone pool money together?” I made enough to live off without sweating small extra expenses too bad, but feeding other adults? Especially carnivores?

I didn’t make enough for that.

Franklin looked startled. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “The community fund pays for the groceries for all residents. We have a shipment from a grocer supply that delivers food once a week. If you want something that isn’t included in the staples, you’re responsible for purchasing it yourself.”

“There’s a community fund? And it pays for groceries?” I asked just as we made it to the doorway that led into a spacious kitchen.

The room was the size of a commercial kitchen, yet still homey. Dark cabinets framed most of the walls, there were two giant islands, and at least four built-in ovens visible from where we stood. A big two-door stainless steel fridge took up another wall, and there was another steel door off to the side that reminded me of the kind of walk-in refrigerators I’d seen in restaurants.

But most astounding of all was the man at the multi-burner range, a spatula in one hand, a white wolf puppy at his feet.

“…revenues from the community’s businesses pay for certain things. What I mean when I say grocery staples are meats mostly, but also breads, some dairy, fruits, and vegetables. If you’re looking for rare French cheese, that would be your financial responsibility.”

Dang it, I’d missed part of what he’d said. I’d been too focused on Henri’s back, taking him in as he’d turned while the elder spoke. He had a green flannel shirt tucked into jeans, his hair damp from a shower. He’d shaved since last night.

Smooth skin looked good on him too.

“Morning, Henri,” Franklin greeted him. “Smells delicious.”

“Cheesy omelets,” the werewolf explained. His gaze flicked in my direction. “Morning,” he greeted us. So polite.

I smiled. “Morning, Henri. Hi, Agnes.”

The white puppy had angled her body to the side, keeping an eye on us. I bent down and picked up Duncan to show him to her, even though she would’ve already smelled him by that point. Both of their ears perked. Setting him down, I watched as Franklin headed to the double-door refrigerator and pulled out a container of orange juice that he held up. “Nina?”

“Yes, please.”

“Water for the… oh, he found it,” Franklin trailed off at the exact second the sound of slurping reached me, and I leaned over to find two bowls of water—one ceramic, the other stainless steel—on the floor. Duncan was drinking from the ceramic one. “We wash those throughout the day. If you see it dirty, please clean it.”

At the stove, Henri asked over his shoulder, “Is he a picky eater?”

I couldn’t help but shiver a little. “No. He just stopped trying to eat dead animals a week ago.” A gag built up in my throat at the memory of the things I’d pulled out of his mouth. Part of me had figured that he wouldn’t get sick from it—I remembered Matti eating all kinds of messed-up stuff when we’d been kids and he’d been in wolf form passing as a puppy—but I hadn’t wanted to get too crazy, at least until he built up a better immune system.

Henri nodded before turning and pulling two textured silicone mats out of a drawer. Then my mouth dropped open as he pulled container after container out of the fridge, along with a short can. The man who had drawn my face to his neck hours ago spread out small, spotted eggs with the shell, a variety of thawed meats, and then sardines from the can on the mats, pushing the food into the grooves with the bottom of a fork. I had to lean over the side of the counter again to see that Duncan and Agnes had made their way over and were sitting at his feet, eager expressions on both their puppy faces.

And here Duncan had been growling at him a few hours ago. I had to hold back a laugh.

“Is this fine for breakfast?” Henri asked with his back still to us as Franklin handed me a glass of juice.

“Perfect,” I told him, a lot breathier than normal, mostly in pleasure and surprise at what he was feeding them. It was almost an exact replica of what I gave Duncan for breakfast. It made my chest feel a little funny.

“Is there a problem?” Franklin asked as he took the seat beside me.

“No.” Which was the truth, but honesty was the best policy. “It’s just that I’ve been worried I’m not feeding him what he biologically needs. I feel a lot better now seeing that what I’ve been giving him isn’t that different from what you all think it should be.” Not that they even knew for a fact what he needed exactly, but I trusted them more than myself. I had just been going off what a nutritionist recommended for his weight.

The older man patted my back kind of awkwardly, or maybe reluctantly. I wasn’t sure how old Franklin might have been. He could’ve been an older-looking fifty or anywhere up to eighty. His glasses gave him a grandpa vibe, but there was something else about him that just didn’t come across very elderly to me.

Or maybe I was being distrustful because of that bracelet under his sleeve.

“He’s in good health. You’ve done a fine job with him, Nina. He’s happy and healthy, and your bond seems strong. All those things matter. You can feed a child a healthy diet, but if it’s in an atmosphere without love and safety, that can be just as harmful to them as poor dietary choices.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him, thinking his words over and seeing the truth in them.

He nodded, peering into my eyes carefully like he was looking for something. With a smile I thought was a little stiff, he dropped his hand. “I have existing commitments after breakfast, but we’ll discuss the pup soon,” he offered. “I’m going to begin looking into the matter of his possible heritage and get back to you once I have any information.”

I wondered. Oh, did I freaking wonder. But we had waited this long for an answer. What was a little more time? “Thank you, Franklin,” I said just as a plate was set down in front of him.

“I don’t know what you eat, so serve yourself,” Henri’s husky voice explained as he met my gaze briefly before heading back to the range.

Had his eyes gotten prettier or was I imagining it? “Thank you.”

“The calendar to sign up for meals is through there.” Henri pointed toward the regular-looking door in the far corner of the huge kitchen beside what I was sure was a walk-in fridge.

Someone had overheard our conversation.

“I’ll check it out,” I said as I got up and headed to where he was busy piling food onto a cream-colored plate with flowers painted on it that were almost identical to the vintage ones my parents used to have. Duncan spared me a quick glance before his attention went right back to the counter where his breakfast was waiting.

I was going to need to get used to it not just being us from here on out. Every morning was going to be like this if we were going to be living in this building for at least a few months. Who knew how things would change after that? I couldn’t be sad about it, about sharing him, about mourning the life we’d had, going to new places, eating breakfast braless, doing whatever we wanted around my work schedule.

Nothing ever stayed the same, and he needed to be safe.

We would start a new routine here. Build new habits. Make a different life.

More than anything, I needed to set a good example. He didn’t need to sense my grief over our previous life and be confused over it. How could I expect him to move forward if I couldn’t?

I picked up a plate from the stack and waited until Henri had moved aside to get my own servings, resignation and determination steeling my body and brain. Laid out like a buffet were the cheesy omelets he’d mentioned, along with bacon, some kind of hamburger patties, and a pot of what I was pretty sure were grits. That part was a surprise because every werewolf I’d ever known rarely ate anything other than meat, fish, and high-fat foods like avocados, butter, and small amounts of cheese. Fruit was tolerable—fruit juices were always welcome. Complex carbs like pasta or bread were rarely eaten. Maybe they’d tackle a plain potato or a couple fries.

“You don’t like grits?” that grumbly voice asked.

I snuck another peek at Henri.

His features were so different from Matti’s that it was hard to see their resemblance.

Their jaws and cheekbones were different shapes, their eye colors were also not the same; their builds were muscular yet complete opposites. The only similarity they had in common physically was that they were both tall. They were like day and night, on the inside and the outside.

Matti was big for a wolf in that form, thanks to his Amarok ancestry, but he looked like a scrawny teenager compared to Henri—not that I would ever tell him that.

“No, I like grits,” I told him. “I was just surprised to see them. Before I came down, I’d been thinking about how I’d need to squeeze some fiber in during my lunch from here on out.” I beamed. “Thank you for making them.”

His jaw flexed, but he dipped his chin.

“I should have mentioned that everyone that lives here is mainly a carnivore,” Franklin piped in, breaking my concentration from the man that I shouldn’t have been so aware of. “For meal-planning purposes.”

“It’s okay, my parents are both wolves in their magical forms. I’m used to it,” I told the older man.

His gaze narrowed, just for a split second, before he pasted a small, tight smile on his mouth as he nodded. “I see.” Franklin’s attention flicked down to his plate for a moment before he asked, “If you’d like oatmeal… don’t we have some instant oats for the children, Henri?”

“We do,” Fluffy answered, setting his plate on the counter before moving around me. He picked up one mat and set it against the wall closest to the walk-in refrigerator.

Agnes didn’t move, but Duncan’s tail swayed.

Apparently, my donut wasn’t worried about Henri for the time being. Was it the fact he was making food? Or had what happened last night chilled him out?

Henri went for the other mat and placed it a foot away from the first one. “Agnes and Duncan, you can eat now.” One white fluffball and a black one darted toward their breakfasts, no hesitation.

“You said he’s two years old?” my best friend’s cousin asked, watching the pups inhale their meal.

“He is. Two years and a couple months.” Dunky was acting like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

“He has good self-control for his age,” Henri noted in a thoughtful voice.

Of course he did. That comment made me way too smug, but I tried to be humble and say, “He’s a very good boy. How old is Agnes?”

“Eight,” Franklin answered.

Sienna had said Henri didn’t have a mate, but….

No, she wasn’t his. Matti would’ve said something by now.

Come to think of it, unlike Shiloh and Pascal, she hadn’t had angry parents or guardians come out after we’d gotten back to the community yesterday. Henri had told her to get her punishment from the elders. What was her parental situation? Was she the child who lived here? I decided I’d have to ask about it later. Definitely not in front of her. She seemed to be interested in Duncan, but I was pretty sure she’d flashed a canine at me when I’d been walking around her to get my breakfast. A part of me admired her for it.

She was a smart kid, already knowing you couldn’t trust everyone that came into your life.

Most of us took a lot longer to learn that lesson.

* * *