Page 1 of Happy Trails & Honey Pots

1

ZOE

“Ten minutes, AJ!”I yelled up the stairs and immediately regretted it, wincing as the vibration of my voice made its way through my ear canal and violently slammed against my cochlea. My head throbbed. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear there was someone beating on a bass drum inside of my head.

Last night, I’d taken six shots, which turned out to be five too many. Tequila and I were no longer on speaking terms. Typically, I didn’t go out when I had to work the next morning, especially when I had a double shift. But the girls insisted on taking me out for drinks, and last night was the only night we all had free. If I had tried to refuse them, they would have kidnapped me. By ‘kidnapping,’ I meant camping out on my front porch and not leaving until I relented to coming out for a drink with them, which they had done. On several occasions.

It had been a hard week, and they were trying to make me feel better. It worked. Temporarily. But this morning, I was paying the price.

My eyes were still closed as I turned and proceeded to trip over a size twelve pair of cleats, causing me to stumble. Thankfully, since I’d studied ballet until I was sixteen, albeitagainst my will, I had the reflexes of a cat and was able to semi-gracefully land on the balls of my sock-covered feet.

“And put your cleats in the mudroom!”

If I’d said it once, I’d said it a thousand times.

“If ya keep doin’ it, the boy is never gonna learn.” Walter eyed me over his reading glasses from his La-Z-Boy in the front room, as I bent over and picked up the offending footwear.

“I know.” I sighed as I carried the cleats through the kitchen and set them on the dryer.

Walter was right, but as a nurse who had done more than a few rotations in the emergency room, I knew the dangers of tripping hazards and would rather remove the shoes than roll the dice on me twisting an ankle or, worse, Walter breaking a hip. Ninety was right around the corner for him, and I’d seen what those injuries could do to a person of his age.

“You workin’ a double today?” Walter asked as he made his way into the kitchen.

“Yep,” I confirmed as he leaned on the island and picked up his coffee mug.

I’d noticed he was moving a little slower these days. I worried that it was more than just the normal wear and tear of his eighty-eight-year-old body. For the past year, I’d gone from gently suggesting to outright asking him to please go in and see someone, just for a checkup, but he was stubborn and set in his ways.

“You work too hard,” he grumbled.

As a single parent, I didn’t really have a lot of options. AJ’s future was entirely on my shoulders. Without Walter, I didn’t know where we would be. He’d allowed us to live here rent-free ever since I was sixteen years old, and my mother threw me out of the house because I was pregnant. That was twelve years ago.

My phone vibrated on the counter, and I picked it up.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“Nadia.” I turned the phone to show him the photos she’d just texted from the night before.

The first was the four of us doing the Charlie’s Angels pose. Nadia and Daphne were the blonde bombshell bookends of the group. Ashley and I were in the center. Ashley had long, wavy red hair and stood a good two inches taller than me at five foot seven, but she’d bent her knees as she held her gun pose. My chestnut brown hair fell to mid back and, at least in my estimation, was the plainest in the group.

In the next photo, we went for the YMCA pose. Nadia was the Y. I was the M. Ashley was the C. And Daphne was the A.

They were the sisters I’d never had. My found family. Daphne was the newest member of our little click, only coming to town about six months ago, but she’d slotted right in.

Walter chuckled at the photos as he handed my phone back to me.

“How are the girls doing?”

“Good. Daphne and Harlan got engaged. And Ashley is going to apply forMarriedby a Matchmaker.”

“Congrats to Harlan and Daphne! Good for them! Now, what in the world isMarried by a Matchmaker?”

“It’s a show where matchmakers arrange your marriage for you. You don’t know your husband before you walk down the aisle and say I do,” I explained as I heard a scratch on the glass, indicating someone was done with their morning potty break.

“Why would she do that?” Walter asked, appearing horrified at the prospect.

“I think she’s tired of dating apps, and she says she wants expert help,” I relayed as I pulled open the sliding back door, and Daisy trotted in from the backyard. I reached down, scratched her behind her soft, floppy ears, and kissed her on top of her head.

Daisy was a tan boxer/lab mix with a white line on her nose and black circles around her eyes that made her look like she was wearing eyeliner. Three years ago, right after I started working at the hospital, I was walking to my car and heard a high-pitched cry behind a dumpster. I looked and saw a tan bundle of fur with two huge brown eyes. I picked her up and knew that I had to take her home.

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