Page 21 of Catch
I blinked, clearing my throat. “Sorry—what now?”
“West asked why you changed your mind about the porch,” Easton reminded me, clearly amused by how deep I’d just spiraled. “DIY ismything, not yours.”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Just wanna do something different.”
Gramps snorted. “If you wanna do something different,wecould try catching somesturgeonnext week. We don’t need any more catfish and bass in the freezer.”
“Oh, yeah…” I rubbed the back of my neck, pushing my plate away. “About fishing next week. I need to take a rain check.”
The chaos that followed was instant.
Grams gasped and stood so fast her chair toppled backward. Jesse clapped both hands over Max’s ears like I’d just cursed in church. Easton choked on his food, nearly sending tuna patty out of his nose. And West, looking entirely too serious, ripped off his suit jacket and ran a hand through his hair like he was preparing to operate on me.
And then, in the midst of it all, Gramps threw up his hands. "What the fudge crackers with a side of mashed potatoes is going on here?!"
I stared at them, completely dumbfounded.
“What?” I asked.
“Ms. Ellison was right,” Grams cried. “You’re sick, and it’s worse than we thought.”
Ms. Ellison? What did Grams’ old friend have to do with this?
“She said you were sick,” Jesse nodded solemnly. “She babysat Max yesterday, and when I picked him up, she asked how you were. But dang it, I didn’t believe her.”
“How bad is it?” West asked, gripping my shoulder like he was about to hear some very bad news. “What do we need to do? Money is no object, little brother.”
“Will you lunatics stop? I’m fine!” I laughed.
But Grams wasn’t convinced. “Ms. Ellison heard from Annie at the grocery store, who heard from Harold the butcher, who heard from Mr. Ghesalt, the barber down at Tunes & Tresses, who heard from Linc, that you were sick.”
“And Linc said it must be serious, because you canceled your night out with him at Fiddlers, and called in sick to work,” Jesseadded. “I mean, I haven’t lived here long, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t call in sick.”
“Yeah,” Easton wheezed, still recovering from his near-death choking experience. “I told Jesse we might need to find a new babysitter because Ms. Ellison was slipping. Now I owe her an apology.”
“You people are insane,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “I just needed a day off. I needed to relax.”
“Well, that’s all fine and dandy,” Gramps huffed, “but pushing your plate away when it’s still half full and saying you can’t fish, that’s when we really got concerned.”
They all stared at me expectantly. Even Max, his little eyes wide, his jaw slack in utter disbelief.
I scrambled for something—anything—to say.
“Captain has me on a special assignment,” I finally blurted. “That’s all.”
“Is it dangerous?” Grams wailed.
For crying out loud. “No, Grams. But I can’t talk about it.”
More silence. A few side-eyes. Even Max looked skeptical.
Then, just as I thought they were going to press me further, Grams sighed and turned to Jesse. “Are you still going to that concert next week?”
“It’s been canceled,” she pouted. “Loxley Adams must be the one that’s really sick. She’s canceled her shows for the next two weeks.”
My stomach dropped.
“Oh dear,” Grams fretted. “That’s a shame. We loved listening to her when she was in town for the festival.”
