Page 9 of Taken Home By the Grizzly

“Todd, Jace, you here?” I call.

“Yeah!” Two little voices echo down from the second story. Thank goodness. I shut the door, lock it and close up the bolt at the top. I dread to think what they’ve been up to since I’ve been gone, but I can’t think about that right now. Instead, I hurry to the bathroom.

I plant Mari down on the toilet lid and I put the plug in the bathtub and turn the faucet.

And a load of brown pours out.

Great.Guess it hasn’t been used in a while.

Eventually, it turns clear, but it’s ice cold. In fact, the whole freaking house is cold. Is there a furnace, or something?

“I’m cold,” Mari whines.

Resisting the urge to ask what she expected from jumping in a river fully clothed, I pull a clean towel off the airer and help her to strip off her wet clothes. Then I wrap the towel around her and rub her down, until I’m satisfied that she’s dry. “Better?” I ask.

She nods. I get her to show me where her room is and we find some dry clothes. Not ideal, but it’s all I’ve got until I figure out how to get the hot water to work.

* * *

The next halfhour could be a supplementary episode to Dante’s Inferno. Watching three extremely energetic and undisciplined kids, while trying to figure out how the hell to get the furnace started pushes me to the brink of my sanity. IthinkI’m doing the right thing, but the furnace just won’t light.

I call the parents again, and again. But either they don’t have connection in their truck, or they’ve switched their phones off. And it’s dark outside now and getting colder. Crap.

I google furnace technicians. It takes a while because each page takes thirty seconds to open, but I ascertain that there’s absolutely no one able or willing to come out here, until after the weekend.

Trying to ignore the little voice telling me just how dumb I was to have accepted this job, I race up to the kitchen and fill the kettle. Then I hunt around for pans. Maybe I can boil enough hot water to fill the bathtub.

Trouble is, there are no big pans, only two small saucepans.

“I’m hungry,” Todd whines from behind me.

“There any cookies you can eat?” I mutter, rooting in a cupboard.

“I dunno.” There’s a scrabbling sound, followed by a loud crash. I flip around. Todd is on top of the counter, and a glass bottle is lying shattered on the ground, spilling a syrupy pool of liquid across the floor.

“So-rree,” Todd says, looking not at all sorry.

“No climbing on the counter,” I say, more snappily than I intended.

His face crumples and he lets out an ear-splitting wail.

Holy crap.

I stare at him in dismay. He’s turning purple with outrage, but there are no tears there. He’s just spoiled. Not used to being told no.

“Stay right there,” I tell him, as I go look for a dustpan and broom.

The wailing cuts out immediately. “You said no climbing on the counter,” he says in a mocking voice.

“It’s okay. For the next five minutes, it’s okay.” I’m struggling to keep my voice level.

Riiinng!

My head jerks around. “What’s that?”

Todd rolls his eyes and raises his hands like a sassy teen. “Doorbell?”

I frown. Where did he learn that?

---