Chapter Eleven #2
“I should’ve brought the binoculars. If Cleo’s sailing back, maybe we could spot her.”
Pulling out her phone, she checked the time.
“No, she’s in the car by now. It’s later than I thought.”
The phone in her hand exploded with Pink Floyd’s “Run Like Hell.”
“What? Why?”
The window of the Gold Room shot up, and the huge black vulture streamed out.
Dobbs had been practicing, Sonya remembered, and run like hell seemed like good advice. She dropped the phone, the basket, grabbed Yoda in one arm, snatched the cat off the wall with the other.
As she prepared to run, they both leaped out of her arms.
“No! Don’t!”
When they ran toward the swooping bird, instinct gave her no choice. She ran after them.
To her horror, the thing shot downward.
With wild barks, Yoda leaped. Pyewacket leaped higher.
Those talons gleamed; the keen-edged beak opened.
The cat swiped. Still running, Sonya heard Pyewacket’s quick cry of pain, and over it the scream of Dobbs’s creature.
Smelled the sulfur as it dissolved into smoke.
“God, oh God, oh God.”
Yoda nuzzled at the cat, who’d landed on all fours before she’d sprawled on the lawn.
Sonya expected blood, open wounds, or worse as she dropped down.
“Let me see. Yoda, get back and let me see.”
She found no blood, no open wounds, but saw the pain in the cat’s green eyes, heard it in her whines.
Internal injuries? Poison?
As Pye wiggled, tried to lick her paw, she saw it. The ice burns on both front paws.
“Okay. Oh, I know it hurts. I can fix it. You have to let me fix it.”
As gently as she could, she picked up the cat, and looked up at the window with both hate and fury.
“You bitch. Going after a little cat.”
Sonya heard an ugly laugh before the window slammed shut.
As she carried the cat, murmured to her, Cleo drove up.
She was out of the car like a bullet from a gun.
“What happened? She’s hurt? What happened?”
“Ice burns, front paws. That vicious, bullying bitch. I know what to do, Cleo. I know how to help her. We have to keep her calm.”
“I’ll take her. I’ve got her. Go. Oh, Pye, I’m so sorry.”
Sonya ran into the house, straight to the kitchen to put a bowl of water in the microwave, to get two soft, clean cloths.
“I know, I know, shh now.” Cleo stroked Pye, cradling her as they came into the kitchen. “We’re going to make it all better. Maybe I should take her to the vet.”
“Let’s try this first, it’s nearly ready.”
“It’s hurting her. I can see it.”
“I know, I know.”
“Shh, shh now. Son, it looks worse than Trey’s hand did that night.”
“I know. Here, use this on her left paw. I’ll take the right.”
Pye didn’t like it, struggled, while Yoda parked his front paws against the kitchen stool and whined.
“It hurts now,” Cleo murmured, “but it’s going to get better. Let us help now.”
They’d applied the warmed cloths three times, and the redness had lessened to a painful pink, when they heard Trey shouting Sonya’s name.
“In the kitchen! We’re in the kitchen! It’s Pye.”
Two men and two dogs rushed in. Trey took one look at the setup.
“Ice burns?”
“Yes. They’re better. But—”
“Let’s have a look.” Carefully, he removed a cloth. “How many applications?”
“Two,” Sonya said, then pushed at her hair. “No, three. This is three.”
That told him they’d been severe. “We’ll do a couple more.”
“Let me have her.”
“No, I—”
“Take a break, Cleo.” Owen lifted Pye out of her arms. “I’ve got her. She’ll hold quiet for me.”
While Trey warmed the cloths again, Cleo swiped at tears. “Sorry. I’m a mess.”
“She’ll be fine,” Trey assured her.
“That’s right.” Owen cradled the cat, kept his eyes on hers. Green on green. “You’re going to be just fine. Might take me and Trey a little longer after the panic. Drive up, Cleo’s car door’s open, front door’s open, Sonya’s phone’s on the grass along with flowers scattered out of a basket.”
“It happened so fast. Clover tried to warn me, but it happened so fast. That goddamn bird. I dropped everything, grabbed Yoda off the ground, Pye off the wall, but—”
Because the men had a handle on it now, she covered her face with her hands. “They both jumped away from me, I couldn’t stop them. They ran toward it, but I wasn’t fast enough to catch them before … They both jumped at it. Yoda, those stubby legs, he didn’t get very high, but God, Pye did.”
She lowered her hands, struggled for calm. “She raked it with her front claws. It hurt her, I heard her cry, but I think she hurt it more. It screamed. It screamed, and it went to smoke.”
“That’s right, warrior cat, you hurt it more.” Owen stroked a finger between Pye’s ears. “Dobbs is no match for you.”
“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I had the stone, the hag stone, in my pocket, but I wanted to get them inside, and—”
“Stop. None of this is your fault.” Tears shimmered on Cleo’s lashes. “Is it better? Is it any better?”
“Yeah.” Trey unwrapped the cloths. “See? Another round or two. They’re going to be sore and tender for a while, but it’s easing up.”
“Doesn’t hurt as much now.” Owen gave Pye another finger stroke. “She’s starting to like the attention.”
“She is.” Cleo swiped at more tears. “Jesus, I’m a mess. It’s better, she’s better. Now I want to go up there, kick down the door to that room, and toss a bucket of water on that bitch.”
“Not sure she’d melt.”
Cleo sent Trey a fierce look. “Then I’ll find a house to drop on her ass.”
“In the meantime,” Owen said, “why don’t you offer Pye a couple of those treats. She’s being a really good girl.”
Because they knew the t-word, tails thumped.
“Good idea. Treats all around.”
By the time they finished, Pye limped a little, but allowed the dogs to sniff at her as she went to the back door.
“She wants to go out, but…”
“She’s good,” Owen assured Cleo.
“Maybe I’ll just watch her for a few minutes. Shit. I left my things in the car.”
“I’ll get them,” Trey told her.
“Dinner.” Cleo rubbed fingers on her temple. “I was going to do swordfish, blacken it, and I got some nice fingerling potatoes, and—”
“I can handle it, get it started.”
“Oh, but—”
Ignoring that, Owen pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, poured her a glass. “Take this with you.”
“Maybe you could just prep the potatoes. You need to—”
Owen gave her a light shove. “Go away.” He poured a second glass, handed it to Sonya. “Go away with her.”
Because she didn’t want Cleo to go alone, Sonya didn’t argue.
“I know it wasn’t my fault, but I’m still sorry.”
“Me, too. But you have to be proud of her. Yoda, too, they went at it. We’ll make her pay, Son. We made that asshole pay, and we’ll make Dobbs pay.”
“That’s just what I said to myself before I went outside. She laughed, Cleo. After, when Pye was hurt, she made sure I heard her laugh.”
“Is that right?” Amber eyes hot with fury, Cleo watched Pye leap onto the doghouse, then stretch out in the evening sun. “I might just try that bucket of water one of these days.”
“We were all having a really good day.”
“It hit a bump. A big, scary bump. We’re over it.”
“We’ll eat out here in the sun,” Sonya decided. “Keep an eye on Pye and the rest of them a little longer.”
“I’m good with that. I’m just going to drink a little of this wine, make sure I’ve settled down. I want to get back in there. I don’t trust Owen with those potatoes.”
She could have.
When they walked back in, Owen had the oven preheating, the fish steak marinating, and the potatoes scrubbed, halved. He stopped mincing garlic to glance over.
“Figure you want some herbs here.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll go get them. I was going to do some asparagus.”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
As she went out, Trey put Sonya’s flowers on the table.
Not the vase she’d had in mind, or the particular arrangement. But she found it very sweet he’d taken care of them.
He handed her the phone.
“Thanks. Thanks, both of you. I was in full panic mode.”
“Didn’t look it.”
“Inside I was.” She wrapped around Trey. “One minute I’m strolling around thinking about having my mom come up for a weekend, and your family over for a barbecue, and the next? Dobbs.”
“You handled it. Both of you.”
“And the cat’s no slouch,” Owen added. He tilted his head toward the refrigerator. “Got some new art.”
“I found it down here before I went outside.”
“It’s pretty great,” Trey said as Cleo came back.
“What’s pretty great? I’m ready for pretty great.”
“Jack painted our fur family.” Sonya gestured.
“Oh! I didn’t even notice. He really got the proportions, the perspective. This shows a lot more skill than you’d expect from a nine-year-old boy.”
She brought the herbs to the cutting board, and Owen nudged her away. “I got it. These potatoes are mine.”
“Fine.” She walked over to take out the asparagus, and Trey stepped closer, studied the painting.
“He’s been around a lot longer than nine years, though, so in some ways … You have to figure he could’ve gotten his hands on paper, pencils, even paints over the years.”
“And practiced,” Sonya realized. “Of course, why wouldn’t he? The drawings of his we found upstairs are good. But the ones he’s done for us? They’re better. He’s practiced, and improved.”
She looked at Trey. “So has Dobbs.”
“It’s different for her.” Owen tossed the potatoes in some olive oil with the chopped herbs, garlic, pepper.
“She’s stuck in a loop, jumping off the wall every night at three.
I don’t know about the rest of them, but he’s not.
Clover’s not. Neither’s Molly, for a start. They adjust, move with the now.”
“That’s a smart take,” Cleo told him. “I like that take.”
“Makes sense to me.” Trey gestured toward the painting again. “Especially when you can see it.”
“The brides. When they show me, bring me into their past, it’s their past—like a loop. But when they speak to me, that past stops, it’s like on hold.”
“And it’s now,” Trey finished.
“I think this matters. I don’t know how yet,” Sonya admitted, “but it feels like a piece of the puzzle.”
When the oven dinged, Owen put the potatoes he’d spread on a baking dish inside, set the timer.
“About twenty, stir them up, give them about another twenty. What’s your spice deal for the fish?”
“That fish is mine.” Cleo walked over, took his face in her hands, kissed him. Then got out a cast-iron skillet. “You can start the grill after the first twenty.”
“I’ll set the table. And add these.” Sonya picked up the flowers. “Oh, Cleo, I forgot. We have three tomatoes.”
“I saw this morning. I took a picture. I’ll pick them tomorrow and figure out what to do with them. A couple more close to ripe, so we’d have five or six.”
“You were right. This was just a big, scary bump, and we’re having a really good day.”
“Before Sonya sets the table, I’m dredging up that sack. We’ll tie the anchor again,” Cleo promised, “but I’d really like to hear how that asshole looked in court.”
“Panic in a designer suit. Don’t ask me what designer, but it had that look.”
“He favors Tom Ford and Armani,” Sonya murmured.
“Okay, probably one of those. I know his lawyer—he went local, which is the right thing. Not a slouch, but he couldn’t control him. And the judge heard him call you a bitch. A couple of outbursts, and he and his attorney got a warning over contempt.”
“And somehow,” Cleo observed, “the day just got even better. That’s all I needed to know. Tying on the anchor again, Sonya.”
Sonya smiled. “Splash.”