Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ERIKA
That night, I prepared to return another phone call from the after-hours messaging center.
The first two had been routine medication refills—important, but not exactly emergencies.
The house was finally quiet after the long day that included the splenectomy surgery, a string of emotional appointments, and my ill-fated attempt to help Vinny with math homework.
I was no help at all. He’d gone from confused to offended in under five minutes, said something I pretended not to hear, and disappeared into his room, door closing with finality.
Josh was still out on a call when I had to leave to pick up Vinny from school. I checked my watch—six-thirty. Josh was probably already on his date. A hollow ache pressed beneath my ribs.
Nope. Not going there. Not thinking about it. Not letting it matter.
I took a breath and dialed the next number.
When the caller answered she said, “This is Lisa Hurst, Josh’s mother. My pony has a puncture or bite of some kind on his leg that I can’t get to stop bleeding. I’d really appreciate if you could come out to take a look.”
Josh’s mom?
“Don’t you want to call Josh directly?” I asked.
“I don’t want to bother him since he’s not on call tonight. If you think it can wait, let me know. I can send you a picture. I just don’t know. These horses get a nick on a hoof and then try to die four hours later. If this is too much for you to deal with, then I understand.”
Lisa Hurst pulled reverse psychology on me just like Josh had tried. Seriously? “Why don’t I come out there and take a look at it?” Damn it, she’d manipulated me into it. “Are you okay if Vinny tags along since it’s not quite his bedtime?”
“Sure. I just pulled an apple pie out of the oven. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a snack while we look at the wound. I can put a movie on for him too.” She hung up.
An hour later, I struggled to get the ornery miniature horse, not a “pony,” to stay still enough to see the source of the blood all over its furry, white front legs.
Its tail and mane were a mess of sticks and burrs as if no one braved touching the four-legged devil.
Mrs. Hurst tried to hold him in the front by his halter, but the tiny horse who barely came up to my thighs at his withers jumped around kicking out every leg other than the one I wanted to see.
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Hurst apologized. She snapped his lead but then jumped when the horse attempted to stomp her booted foot and then bit at her.
“Stop it!” At her harsh tone the mini stilled.
“I wish Mason or Tim was home. This little turd wouldn’t be acting up if they were.
They went down to my father’s house to fix his toilet.
Lord love my dad, but the man clogs his toilet at least once a week using too much toilet paper or flushing something he shouldn’t.
Sometimes he throws those wet wipes in there, but he never gets the kind that are flushable.
Well, he’s on septic, so he probably shouldn’t flush either down there. ”
I gave up on trying to get a look and tossed peroxide toward the bloody leg, dousing the hair in the bubbly liquid. A few swipes with a towel while dodging kicks showed me the wound. The “emergency” turned out to be a hole no bigger than a penny. I ducked a flying hoof to clean it further.
I leaned back, proud of my work to announce, “Looks pretty superficial.”
A hind hoof kicked out and caught me in the back of the thigh. The pain sent me forward to my knees, but I’d been around horses long enough to know you didn’t want to be down on the ground within kicking distance of an angry animal. I angled to fall away from the little horse.
“Cut it out!” Mrs. Hurst jerked his halter again, which did nothing to curb the horse’s behavior. Doubtful the little jerk had ever been disciplined. “I’m so sorry about him. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” No. My thigh burned when I stood.
It wasn’t a broken bone, but it smarted something awful.
After another fifteen minutes I got a decent wrap on the horse’s leg.
“Ask Josh to come out in one or two days to take a look at it.” Because I sure as hell don’t want to take the bandage off.
“I’ll give him an antibiotic injection and something for pain. ”
After cleaning up my supplies, I washed my hands in the cold faucet.
“Come inside and have some pie,” Mrs. Hurst ordered.
It hadn’t come out as a request. She marched up to the grand farmhouse perched on the hill.
Its wide wraparound porch, lined with rocking chairs, overlooked miles of farmland and forest. The HVAC business and farming had been good to the Hurst family.
I wasn’t interested in being cornered by my ex-high school boyfriend’s mom, probably to warn me away from her son. However, for the sake of politeness and to expedite both Vinny and I getting out of here, I opted to take the pie. Surely, this couldn’t take more than ten minutes.
My phone had one voicemail. I listened with a tight feeling in my chest, hoping it wasn’t another emergency.
“Hey, babe. You need to call me. It’s important,” Jay said, easy and familiar. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “I went ahead and got your job reinstated up here. You’re scheduled back next Thursday. I’ll give you the details when you call.”
I deleted the message as fast as I could. I’d blocked him, hadn’t I? But I hadn’t blocked the Philly clinic’s number.
“Vinny fell asleep in front of the TV,” Mrs. Hust announced when I walked in.
She slid a whopping slice of pie my way across the marble kitchen countertop.
It looked as if she had quartered the pie and served me one of the wedges.
Then she jerked the piece back her way, took a can of whip cream out of the fridge, and squirted a softball-sized pile of white fluff on top.
I almost complained that was far too much, but she gave me a look of expectancy as if a Michelin chef was about to judge her cooking.
I bit into a forkful of the sugary concoction. An explosion of sweet bliss lit up in my mouth. “This is… wow. I’d ask for the recipe, but I’m not much of a baker. That lattice on top?” I gestured with my fork. “That’s not dessert. That’s craftsmanship.”
She took a cold pack out of the freezer and handed it to me.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“Where that idiot horse kicked you in the leg.”
“Thanks.” I tried to position my leg in the bar height chair where I could put the ice on it, but it was awkward.
Mrs. Hurst gathered her hair into a ponytail and leaned back against the marble countertop. “I’m worried about Josh. What’s your take on how he’s doing?”
“In what way are you worried?” Not at all what I expected from her. I braced myself, half waiting for the warning to keep my hands off him.
“He just seems…” She searched for the right word, eyes darting away. “I don’t know. Tired? Lost? Maybe even miserable?”
“Are you saying that’s my fault?” The words came sharper than intended, but I couldn’t catch them once they were out.
“No. ’Course not. You just got back. He’s exhausted.” She added quietly, “With everything. All the time.”
“I don’t think he’s slept more than a few hours at a time in weeks.” I took another careful bite, trying not to let my jaw clench. I could feel Mrs. Hurst’s eyes on me, the weight of some unspoken purpose pressing in, but I had no idea what she was leading me toward.
“Maybe it’s lack of sleep,” she said noncommittally. “Whatever it is has been a problem for a few years. How are you, dear? I’m terribly sorry about your parents. It’s been a lot this past week or so for you, hasn’t it?”
“It has.” I’d never sleep if I ate the whole piece due to the toxically high sugar content, but it was so delicious that I couldn’t stop eating.
“Is Josh behaving himself at work?” Her tone was light but edged with curiosity.
“Behaving himself?” I echoed as my mind involuntarily flashed back to us kissing after the funeral—too hard, too desperate, too much.
She fiddled with the pie server. “We all saw what happened at the funeral reception. I was on my way out, but the librarian stopped me with something about our Thursday knitting group. Then suddenly you two were shouting. The next thing I knew, you both stormed out opposite doors.”
I forced myself to finish chewing my bite of pie. “I’m sorry that bothered you.” The apology felt thin. “He and I still have some issues we’re working through.”
“Which is why I’m asking. I talked to him at Sunday supper about it.
The second I brought it up, he tore out of here.
He never skips my pie. I love my son to pieces, but he’s a grown man who knows full well how to behave like one.
You don’t go blowing up at a funeral reception.
I raised that boy better than that. If he has a problem, instead of behaving like a child, he needs to use his words. Communicate.”
I bit back a giggle. “We haven’t had much of a chance to work together and see if we can communicate without fighting.”
“You know he’s out with Milly tonight, don’t you?” She put the pie away in the refrigerator. Her tone suggested she didn’t like her son dating Milly.
What? I froze with my next bite halfway to my mouth. She wasn’t going to warn me away from Josh? “Who he dates isn’t my business.”
She squinted at me as if looking for a hint of how I really felt. “She snubbed me at church last week. What kind of person does that when they’re trying to date my son?”
“Maybe she was nervous,” I said to remain neutral.
“I can’t tell how he feels about Milly. He only talks about you to me, mostly complaints. You’re the only person that I’ve ever seen make my son behave like a raccoon with its butt on a cattle prod.”
I couldn’t tell if that was good or bad, but a snicker escaped me at the imagery. “Maybe Milly is a calming influence on him. That could be good, right?”