Page 4 of Jumping In
“You did,” he said when he reached the TV. “You two never destroy things.” He paused. “Almost never.”
Squatting down, he picked up the cord.
“Why?” He shook the cord at his dogs.
They ran over and licked his face.
“Stop.”
They didn’t.
“Cut it out.”
After coordinating a dual-jump where three paws landed on his chest, they did. Unfortunately, he had toppled backward by then.
“What is it Sally says about bad things?” he asked himself. “They come in threes, right?” The dogs didn’t answer. “So we have Ewan’s a fucker, I need a new place to live, and my furniture is destroyed. That’s three.” He shoved himself up. “But my boots make it four.” He brushed his hands down his sleeves, trying to get the various sofa and table particles off, when he encountered something sticky. “What the…?” He moved his palms to his face and sniffed. “What is this?”
The dogs still didn’t answer.
“Fuck it, never mind.”
He shook his head, stomped into the kitchen, and yanked the refrigerator door open. Not surprisingly given his day so far, the top hinge snapped and the door started tilting toward the floor.
“Damn it!”
He tried to catch it but then his heel slipped on something—not the sticky substance from the living room, because this was slimy—and he went down, taking the door with him. The refrigerator followed but, in what might have been the only good thing to happen that evening, it hit the floor directly beside him instead of landing on top of him.
“Is this a joke?” he shouted as he jerked his gaze around the room. “This is a joke, right?”
The sound of shattering glass followed by the sight of amber liquid seeping out from underneath the destroyed appliance told him there was nothing funny about the situation.
“Not the beer!”
He scrambled to his knees and, with a grunt, flipped the refrigerator onto its side. He hadn’t gone shopping since he’d returned home so there wasn’t much in there: condiments, baking soda, bottles of water, and beer. Everything except the beer had survived. The only thing he wanted was beer.
“You know what?” he yelled to the still empty room. “I know where to get a drink.”
He stood up and marched toward the front door.
“Biggest party in town, huh? Bet that means an open bar.”
He scooped up the mail he’d left in the entryway along with his keys and walked out.
“Ewan thinks it’s funny to invite me to this bullshit? The least that asshole owes me is a beer.”
***
The engagement party was being held at the golf course country club. Clint had been there once for a wedding and another time for the animal shelter’s big fundraiser. Neither event had valet parking but when he turned to pull into the parking lot, he was thwarted by orange cones and a sign readingReserved for Valet. Why people would have trouble parking themselves in a lot not thirty feet from the front door, he didn’t know, but the orange cones gave him no other alternative. With a sigh, he changed course and went to the circle drive in front of the entrance where a handful of men wearing bright blue vests stood around a temporary podium.
“They’re closed today for a private event, sir,” said one of the valets when Clint pushed his truck door open with a squeak.
He added oiling the hinges to his to-do list.
“I’m here for the—” Clint ground his teeth, “—event.”
“Oh!” The valet looked at Clint’s clothes and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Are you sure because you’re not dressed like—”
“I’m sure.” Clint leaned back into the car and retrieved the invitation from the mail pile he’d tossed onto the passenger seat. “See? I have the golden ticket.”
