Under a Summer Sky, page 16
“Holy cow,” Noah said, running his hand through his hair. “What the heck happened?”
“I don’t know. He was in the driveway.”
“Maybe he was hit by a car,” Gabe said.
“Looks like he was hit by a truck,” Seth observed gloomily.
Tears streamed down Asher’s cheeks. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yup,” E said, picking Asher up and stepping back. “Head injuries always bleed a lot. They look a lot worse than they really are.”
Lucky cried mournfully, and Laney eyed her oldest son, as if to say, Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
Noah hurriedly searched through the Post-it notes taped around the phone. “Where’s Aiden’s number?”
“It’s on the fridge,” Laney answered, her voice sounding frantic. “I’m just going to go. I’m just going to take him. Tell him we’re on our way. If you don’t reach him, call my cell and I’ll take him to the emergency clinic in South Dennis.”
“I’ll drive,” Gabe said.
“Grab a towel,” Laney directed.
As they went out the door, she heard Noah talking on the phone. It was a reassuring sound, and she whispered softly, “It’s okay, Lucky. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Laney had left her vehicle running, and Gabe opened the passenger door, helped her in, and laid the towel on her lap before climbing into the driver’s side. As they passed the wooded area at the end of the road, she remembered the two boys. “Just as I was coming home,” she said, motioning to the side of the road, “two boys came flying out of the woods on bikes. I almost hit them, and one of them had a stick and banged the whole side of the car with it. I wonder if they had anything to do with this.”
“Why would they hurt a cat?” Gabe asked skeptically. “I think he was hit by a car. Animals run out in traffic all the time and, at this time of day, it’s hard to see.”
“You’re right. It is hard to see, so I shouldn’t say anything, but I really think one of them looked like Jared Laughlin.”
“What would he be doing up here?”
“Who knows? I’m not sure where they live, but he was on Asher’s bus so it must be nearby. Maybe they were on their way home from the beach. Come to think of it, they did have towels around their necks.”
“Well, I doubt they had anything to do with this.”
Laney sighed. He was probably right, but she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling.
Gabe passed the barely legible sign that had once clearly read, “Cape Cod Animal Hospital,” and turned into an overgrown driveway. Dr. Aiden Hatch’s circa 1800s run-down office was behind his circa 1700s run-down house, but the condition of the buildings didn’t matter one bit to his four-legged clientele or their human counterparts. The only thing that mattered was his gentle touch, his soft voice, and his unmatched wisdom when it came to caring for furry friends; he was an old-time treasure in the modern world of veterinary care.
As Gabe pulled up next to the office, a small troop of dogs came around from behind the house and announced their arrival, and then, an older gentleman with a lanky frame and a mane of white hair came out of the house, wiping his mouth on a napkin. Dr. Hatch had always cared for the Coleman pets—he’d even cared for Martha, the old black Lab who’d saved Asa from a riptide when he was a boy.
“Did we interrupt your dinner?” Laney asked worriedly.
“Nope. What have we got?” he asked, motioning to the bundle in Laney’s arms.
“Oh, Dr. Hatch, it’s Lucky, that stray cat you checked out for me a couple of months ago.”
He nodded, pushing open the rickety screen door of his office and turning on the light. “And what brings Lucky here tonight?”
“Well, we think he might’ve been hit by a car,” Laney said, laying him on the table.
Dr. Hatch gently stroked Lucky’s side and let him sniff his hand. “Well, Lucky, you’ve gotten yourself into a heap a trouble, haven’t you?” he murmured, looking at the bloody eye. Lucky cried plaintively as if he was telling the old vet the whole, sad story. Dr. Hatch nodded. “I know, I know. I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sympathetically. He carefully examined him, and then looked up. “Well, he’s definitely experienced some kind of trauma, but I don’t know if he was hit by a car. I think his jaw is broken, and he may lose that eye.”
Tears stung Laney’s eyes. “Is he going to be okay?”
Dr. Hatch pressed his lips together and looked down at Lucky again. “It’s hard to say. If he makes it through the night, his chances will greatly improve, but until I get an X-ray, I don’t know what’s going on inside.”
Laney nodded.
The old doc looked up. “Jot down your number,” he said, pulling a tattered assignment pad from his shirt pocket.
Laney opened the small notebook full of scribbled notes and tried to find an empty page.
As if reading her mind, he assured, “Don’t worry. I’ll find it.”
Laney jotted down her name and number and handed it back to him, and he tucked it in his pocket. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
Laney leaned over and gently kissed the one spot on Lucky’s head that wasn’t covered in blood. “Love you,” she murmured, fighting back tears. “Don’t you leave us.”
Gabe gently stroked Lucky’s side, his solemn eyes glistening. “Live up to your name, bud,” he said softly.
Dr. Hatch looked up. “Can you stop at the house and tell Marnie to come?”
Laney nodded and, feeling helpless, they turned to go.
Marnie was the youngest daughter of the ten redheaded Hatch kids, and even though she was twenty-eight, she still looked like a teenager. She had long, reddish blond hair pulled into a ponytail, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and she had her dad’s kind blue eyes. She’d never married. Instead, after her mother’s death, Marnie, who’d always been close to her dad, had taken it upon herself to look after him and help him take care of his large flock of four-legged patients.
“Marnie,” Laney called, peering through the screen door. A young woman standing at the sink, washing the supper dishes, turned around.
“Hi, Laney,” she said. “Noah said you’d be over.”
Laney nodded. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your dad says he needs you.”
Marnie nodded, dried her hands, and abandoning the dishes without a second thought, pushed open the squeaky farmhouse door.
“Thanks,” Laney said as she hurried past. But Marnie, intent on what her dad needed, only waved over her shoulder.
Later that night, Laney lay awake, listening to Noah snoring peacefully. Her heart felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. How can he sleep? she wondered, staring into the darkness. How can he sleep when Lucky’s life is hanging by a thread . . . if he’s even alive? She rolled onto her side and looked out at the stars. A breeze whispered through the window, and she remembered the old, orange barn cat her grandparents had had when she was a little girl. Her grandmother had called him Peaches, but her grandfather had called him Ned.
“How come you call him Ned, Gramp?” she’d asked one day when they were sitting on the porch.
“ ’Cause he looks like a Ned,” Gramp said matter-of-factly.
“He does?” she’d asked, watching the old cat sunning in a nearby chair and puzzling over this answer.
“Yep.”
“I think he looks like a Peaches,” she said.
“Now, how can you call a big ole tomcat Peaches? He’ll have a complex.”
“Gram calls you honeypot, and you don’t have a complex.”
Gramp laughed. “Oh, yes, I do.”
“Oh, stop your nonsense, Lon,” Gran said, pushing open the screen door. “C’mon, Peaches,” she called softly, and the cat hopped down and trotted into the kitchen after her.
“He doesn’t look like he minds,” Laney observed.
Gramp just shook his head, but when the old cat died the next winter, and Laney visited the following summer, she spied a little wooden cross in the garden with Gramp’s handwriting on it. It said, “PEACHES.” But when she’d knelt in the grass for a closer inspection, she’d realized that down the cross—using the first E in PEACHES—was written the name “NED.”
“Oh, Gramp,” she whispered now. “I wish you were still here. . . .”
She tossed and turned all night, dreaming about a pack of boys careening crazily out of the shadows on bikes. “Watch where yer goin’!” they yelled over and over and then, “Bang, bang, bang!” She woke with a start to the sound of the phone ringing. “Noah?” she said, disoriented and fumbling for the phone, and when she finally managed to pick it up, she heard Noah’s voice talking. “Yes, thank you, Dr. Hatch. I’ll tell her,” and then the phone clicked.
She sat bolt upright. Lucky! He was calling about Lucky. Grabbing her robe, she pulled it on as she hurried down the stairs. Noah was watching The Rifleman while he mixed pancake batter. “How is he?” she blurted.
Noah looked up. “He made it through the night, but he’s still in pretty rough shape . . . and he did lose that eye.”
“Can we pick him up?”
“I don’t think so. I got the impression he’s going to be there for a few days. He’s still sedated, and they don’t know how much trouble he’s going to have eating with a broken jaw.”
“Oh, dear,” Laney said. “How can he survive if he can’t eat?”
Noah shook his head. “I don’t know, but the good news is he didn’t have any internal injuries.”
Laney nodded, sat wearily at the table, and absentmindedly started watching the old western TV series The Rifleman and heard Chuck Connors’s character Lucas addressing the marshal.
“I forgot the marshal’s name was Micah,” she mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone else named Micah except your brother.”
Noah smiled. “There’s a Micah in the Bible.”
“I know,” she said. “Is that where your parents got his name?”
“Actually, I think they got it from this show. It was one of my dad’s favorites.”
“It was one of my grandfather’s favorites too. That’s where my uncle Luke got his name. Good thing it started with an L.” Noah looked up with a puzzled expression, and Laney said, “Lon, Lonnie, Lucas, Laney. And my niece’s name is Laurie and my nephew’s name is Levi.”
Noah laughed. “I never thought of that. And just think, we didn’t consider any names that begin with L.”
“That’s okay. I like the names we picked . . . although I sometimes wish we’d named Asher Samuel.” She paused. “Did Dr. Hatch say anything more about what he thinks happened to Lucky?”
“No,” Noah said, dropping broken eggshells into the garbage. “I thought we decided he was hit by a car.”
“Well, Dr. Hatch didn’t sound convinced by that theory.” Then she went on to tell him about the encounter she’d had with the two boys. “Which reminds me,” she added. “I need to see if he did any damage to the side of the car.”
“You think they purposely hurt Lucky?”
“I don’t know. The timing is kind of odd . . . and what were they doing on our road?”
“Well, we have no way to prove it. We don’t even know who they were.”
“I know, but one of them really looked like Jared, and it’s a little scary to think he might have targeted a pet.”
Noah took a deep breath and shook his head. “It is scary, but you can’t blame someone without proof.”
“I know, but I think we should keep an eye on the dogs and make sure they stay in the yard—especially Halle. I don’t think Mennie would wander off.”
Noah nodded, and Laney stood up to make coffee, but then realized the pot was already full. “You made coffee?”
“Yup,” he said with a nod. “Fog Buster—just for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, pouring a cup. “By the way, there’re blueberries in the fridge.”
“No, there aren’t.”
“Yes, there are,” Laney said, pulling open the fridge. She spent five minutes looking on every shelf and behind every condiment and juice container. “Well, they were in here,” she said in a puzzled voice.
She noticed Noah’s eyes sparkling mischievously, and she looked in the bowl and realized the batter was already full of dark blue lumps. “You,” she said, laughing.
“Me,” he said, pulling her into a hug.
“How long before breakfast?” she murmured.
“Not long. Gabe and E have to be at work by nine.”
“Can I help?”
“Nope,” he said, letting her go. “You just take your coffee out on the porch and relax.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup. Lucas McCain and I have it all under control.”
“You just don’t want me talking while you’re trying to watch,” she said as she headed for the porch with both dogs trailing behind her.
Noah laughed and shook the orange juice container. “We need OJ.” he called.
“I know,” she called back as she sank into her favorite chair. “We always need OJ.”
The dogs wagged their tails, and Mennie rested his head on her lap while Halle put her paws on the edge of the chair. “You two are silly,” she said softly. “And, you, missy, are getting big.” Halle leaned forward and licked her right on the lips. “Nice,” she said, laughing and wiping her mouth.
The dogs lay down at her feet, and Laney took a sip of her coffee. She looked out at the yard and noticed one of the phoebes fly from the clothesline to the ledge under the shed roof. She frowned. “I hope you’re not still looking for your babies,” she murmured sadly.
When it continued to fly back and forth, Laney put her coffee down, stepped over the dogs, pushed open the screen, and walked over to investigate. The little bird immediately flew to the clothesline and cocked its head, watching her. Laney peered into the nest. There were three new eggs.
34
The bell on the shop door rang cheerfully, and Beryl looked up.
A tall, slender boy with short blond hair carefully closed the door behind him, and Beryl smiled. “Hi, Henry.”
“Hi,” Henry answered solemnly.
“Are you here for your check?”
He nodded, and Beryl sifted through some papers and handed an envelope to him. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking it but not moving.
Beryl looked up and searched his face. “Are you going to the fireworks tomorrow?”
Henry shook his head. “I don’t like fireworks,” he said, “but I am running in the Firecracker 5K.”
Beryl smiled. Anytime Henry volunteered information without being asked was a good thing. When he’d first started working in the shop, Callie, his mom, had explained that he hadn’t spoken at all when he was little, and even though he’d come a long way, he was still quiet.
“That’s great, Henry. Micah’s running in it too, so now I’ll have two people to cheer for.”
Henry smiled—another rare occurrence. “I’ll take it easy on him,” he said softly, and Beryl laughed.
“I hope so. Otherwise you’ll make him feel old.”
“My mom said you’re getting married.”
“We are—next month. In fact, we’re going on vacation the same week you’re going on vacation.”
“Where are you going?”
“Bermuda.”
Henry frowned. “I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s an island off the Carolinas.”
Henry nodded. “We’re going to Maine.”
“I know,” Beryl said. “That’ll be fun.”
“My dad and I are running in a 10K.”
“You’re going to be busy.”
Henry nodded. “It’s called Beach to Beacon because it starts at a beach and ends at a lighthouse. We ran it last year.”
The bell jingled, and they both looked up. Callie, Henry’s mom, peered around the doorway and waved to Beryl. “Comin’, hon?”
Henry nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Beryl smiled. “I’ll be there. Good luck!”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling shyly. “Tell Micah good luck too.”
“I will.”
“Thanks, Beryl,” Callie called, holding the door for her son.
As they left, Callie continued to hold the door as Rumer and Rand came in. “Was that Henry?” Rumer asked in surprise.
Beryl nodded, giving her nephew a hug.
“No wonder he’s such a good runner—look how tall he is!”
Beryl laughed. “Look how tall this kid is,” she said, holding Rand at arms’ length. She grinned. “Okay, back-to-back,” she said.
Rumer rolled her eyes. “We don’t need to stand back-to-back. You can see for yourself he’s got four inches on me.”
“C’mon, Mom,” Rand said, turning around. Rumer gave in and stood back-to-back with her son.
Beryl eyed them critically. “Hmm . . . I think it’s more like five inches.”
Rumer laughed. “What can I say? Look at Will’s side of the family. His dad is six foot four.”
Rand grinned, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.
Beryl smiled. “He’s all Swanson,” she teased, ruffling his hair. “Look at this mop too!”
“Don’t worry,” Rumer assured her. “He’s getting it cut before the wedding.”
“Don’t do it for me,” Beryl said, touching his curly locks. “I think his hair’s beautiful.”
“See, Mom,” Rand said, looking at Rumer. “You’re the only one who thinks I need a haircut.”
Rumer gave her younger sister a wilting look, and Beryl laughed. “Sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything.” She turned to Rand. “You look very handsome with short hair too,” she said with a grin. “Would you like a chocolate croissant?”
“Mmm, I’d love one, Aunt Ber.”
Beryl busied herself warming up two croissants, and Rumer came around the counter and poured a cup of coffee. “Have you been busy?”
“Very,” Beryl said. “I think half of New York City has come up for the holiday.”
Rumer laughed. “Guess you didn’t realize we live in a tourist destination.”
“I guess not.”
