Page 5 of Inherited Light
I nodded. “Thanks Kerrigan, I’ll keep you posted about Cinn. I know you two have become good friends.”
“We have, and I should have noticed she didn’t feel well. In hindsight, I saw it, but she’s incredibly stubborn.”
I chuckled for the first time in an hour. “I hadn’t noticed,” I said, rubbing Poopsie’s back. “Don’t feel bad. She hides her pain and illness well, she always has. Foster noticed, but chalked it up to working too hard. Unfortunately, Cinn has always gone downhill quickly, which makes it hard to catch anything early. One day she’s fine, and the next she’s in the hospital. We’ve been through this before and she’ll be fine once she gets treatment.”
She paused as if she was going to say something, but finally blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll be praying. Keep me posted. I’m here all night.”
She headed back to the kennels and I made my way to the front of the building. It was only a little after four and I hesitated at the steps to the apartment. Maybe I should take them to the dog park for a bit. If they ran and got their energy out, they might be willing to sleep once we got back to the apartment.
I grabbed two leashes from behind the counter and hooked up Annabelle and Poopsie. The park my grandmother funded, and then deeded to the humane society, sat on a little less than an acre of land only a few blocks from the shelter. It was a short jaunt, and on a nice day like today, it might make all of us feel better. “What do you say, girls?” I asked, holding the door handle of the shelter. “Should we go to the park?”
My goofy, dog happy tone made Anabelle jump and twist for joy, but Poopsie looked up at me, her eyes sad and her body sagging. I threw open the door and urged the girls out, my shoulders slumped as we started the trek to the park.
“I know how you feel, Poopsie. I know exactly how you feel,” I whispered.
Chapter Three
I’ve loved strolling around Little Ivywood for as long as I can remember. As a kid, it was easy to find something to do in town. I was always riding my bike with friends to the pool, hanging out at the park, or playing in the old caves lining the back of town. It was easy to make our own fun in Little Ivywood. Don’t get me wrong, I loved working with my hands and building things, but I saved those activities for winter when the cold chased us inside.
Since my childhood, Little Ivywood has morphed into a busy metropolis. Friday nights are alive with kids on bikes, campers and boats heading to the campground, and old men in convertibles with the top down. I live in the kind of town that exudes personality. While the people in the town contribute to that, Little Ivywood controls it. There’s a bustling business district, a strong church presence, and active volunteers in all aspects of the citizen-run city. Today, as the sun shone down, almost baking you with its heat, I was overwhelmed with pride for a city I had no desire to ever leave. Maybe it sounds childish and immature, but it’s true. I attended vocational school in San Diego and let me tell you, I’m not a big city kind of guy.
I prefer a slower pace. I like knowing most of the people in the town, and volunteering in the community to keep Little Ivywood a safe place for future generations. I’m starting to think I inherited my love for community from Mabel. She always had the best interest of Little Ivywood in her heart when she did something to improve it. Take the dog park for instance. She didn’t need to buy the land and build a dog park, but she did because she wanted a safe place for Little Ivywood canines to play. She also hoped once people started using the park, it would be a place of camaraderie and community for the canines’ humans. She bought the land, paid for the fencing and all the equipment inside the park, and paid for advertising to promote it. The summer before she died she even installed a small fountain for drinking, a bottom spigot for dogs and a top one for humans.
A few years back, the humane society honored Mabel at the dog carnival by dedicating a bench in her name. It now sits under the large maple tree shading the owners while their dogs played. I didn’t know Mabel well, but the more I learned about her, the more I know the person she pretended to be, wasn’t the real deal. The woman she showed the world was fashioned from fear and a bravado she didn’t feel. It’s a shame she’s gone now. If she was still here, I would make a bigger effort to break through her tough exterior and learn more about her. Then again, if she hadn’t died would any of the things she’s done have come to light? When she died, we had no idea her death involved a madman’s plot to take the land the park sat on and dig it up to search for buried treasure. We learned he used his father’s notes and correspondence to find the land where it was said his father left a fortune under the soil. Those notes led him to the land Mabel owned. When she refused to sell it, he took matters into his own hands and killed her to get it. He also blackmailed my sister Tabitha into poisoning the dogs at the park by tossing in treats laced with antifreeze. Poopsie was the first to get sick, but thankfully, she pulled through. Malik Dearing was responsible for orchestrating chaos in our lives and I was glad he would never see the light of day again.
I unhooked the gate and threw it open, the dogs thrilled to be off their leashes to romp through the grass. Well, Annabelle was anyway. Poopsie never left my side, and when I sat down on Mabel’s bench, she lowered herself to the ground and rested her head on her paws. I picked her up, and ruffled her ears.
“It’s okay, Poopsie. Cinn will be fine once she sees the doctor. She’ll be back with Brutus in a few hours and you can love on her for the rest of the night.”
“What’s wrong with Cinn?” a voice asked.
I snapped my head up and stared into the face of an angel. The sun shone through her golden-brown hair and threw shadows on the face I hadn’t stopped thinking about since yesterday.
“Hi, Cat, it’s nice to see you.” I didn’t stand because I was eye-to-eye with her as she sat in her chair. “Foster took Cinn to the ER. She’s oddly lethargic and told us her stomach hurts all the time.”
Cat frowned and locked the wheels on her chair. “I noticed yesterday she seemed tired. I feel terrible for staying so long now.”
“Don’t, please. Cinn will always downplay her illness because she doesn’t like it to define her.” I checked my phone for a text from Foster, but there was nothing. I held the phone up. “Nothing from Foster yet, but they only left half an hour ago. She’ll be fine in a few hours, I’m sure.”
Cat patted her hands on her lap. “The expression on your face tells me you aren’t as cool about it as you’re trying to pretend.”
I shrugged my shoulder and focused on Poopsie. “She’s my sister and I don’t like seeing her in pain. It’s never easy and there’s always the small worry she’s in real trouble. She almost died once and it’s all I think about when she gets sick enough to go to the hospital.”
I gazed around the dog park to avoid making eye contact with her. She laid her hand on my arm and squeezed it gently. “It’s okay to be upset and worried, Ren. You don’t have to pretend you aren’t when you’re with me.”
I nodded once in acknowledgement and tried to smile. “I know it’s not manly to be scared, but I am. If you had seen her and held her in your arms, you’d understand. I could feel how sick she was and I’m angry she’s let it go this long.”
She shook her head slightly and leaned forward, her arms propped on her thin thighs. “As a woman like Cinn, I understand why she does it. She’s trying to have a normal life, Ren. You’ve got to cut her some slack.”
I crossed my arms and stared out across the park. “She’s never going to have a normal life. I wish she would understand she’s putting the wonderful life she does have at risk when she refuses to seek treatment.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Ren. I understand where she’s coming from and I understand where you’re coming from. I do. Will you keep me posted on her progress?” she asked
I nodded and squeezed the hand I had picked up off her lap. “Of course I will. If you stick around for a bit, Foster will probably call or text.” I held her hand, but stared out over the park, wondering which dog was hers.
“I don’t have a dog,” she admitted, knowing exactly what I was doing. “My dog, Buster, died about three months ago. I haven’t had the heart to get another dog.”
I laid my hand on her leg, which was thin and bony under her pants. “I’m sorry, Cat. Losing a pet is hard. You take as long as you want to grieve.”
