Page 10 of Aviator
“He’s doing much better,” Margaret says, “but I think he’s getting restless. He wants to get out and move around.”
Luke grunts in frustration, his brow furrowing as he debates between two puzzle pieces. “I wish the two of you would stop talking about me like I’m not here. And I don’t need to be stuck indoors like an invalid.”
I walk over to him and squeeze his shoulder. “I know you’re feeling better, Gramps, but you need to take it easy. At least for now. You had a stroke. You need to listen to the doctors and do what they say.”
“Bah,” he says. “I don’t need no doctors tellin’ me what to do. I’ve been taking care of myself for over eighty years. I think I know what’s best for me.”
Margaret smiles sympathetically. “I know it’s hard, Mr. Pascal, but you need to take it easy for a little while longer. You don’t want to risk having another stroke.”
He grumbles, but I can see the defeat in his eyes. He knows she’s right, but he doesn’t like it.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you back on your feet and causing trouble in no time.”
He nods, and I can tell he’s resigned himself to his bedrest, at least for now.
I walk Margaret to the door and thank her for caring for Luke while I was away. She smiles, gives me a quick hug, and steps out onto the porch. As she descends the steps, I notice a stray cat sitting on the rocking chair to my right. I glance up, hoping I can foist it on Margaret, but she’s already pulling out of the drive.
The cat is small with black fur, a white belly, and an orange patch in the shape of the sun over one of its eyes. It looks at me quizzically, tilting its head from side to side as if trying to understand me.
We regard each other for a moment, and then I make a shooing motion, hoping it’ll go back where it came from. But it only stares and then licks its paws, completely unimpressed. I curse under my breath. I can’t leave it out in the cold. It’s going to be below freezing tonight. Sighing, I pick it up and bring it inside. Tomorrow, I’ll take it to the shelter to see if its owners have reported him missing.
Gramps tips down his glasses at the mass of fur in my arms and says, “Well, what have we here?”
I let the cat down to get a can of tuna from the pantry. When I turn back around, the cat’s jumped up onto the recliner with Gramps and settled onto his legs like this is its house or something.
“Looks like it’s decided to stay,” Gramps chuckles, petting the cat like it’s always been here.
Scoffing, I put the tuna down with a bowl of water. No way in hell are we keeping the damn cat. “Don’t you go naming it or anything. It’s not staying.”
I snatch up my phone and punch in the animal rescue number I find after a quick search. On the third ring, a robotic voice informs me that no one is available and to leave a message. I rattle off my details and the predicament, emphasizing its urgency. With a deep sigh, I end the call and turn back to Luke and the cat.
“I’ll call the rescue back tomorrow,” I tell Luke. “But for now, he can hang out with you. Unless you’d rather I shut him in the laundry room or something.”
“I don’t mind the company,” Luke says, petting the cat with a smile.
Later that night, after I get Gramps settled down for bed, the cat snoozing next to him, I sit on the porch, staring out into the darkness as I sip my beer. The night is quiet, and for a moment, I allow myself to relax and forget about everything else. I can hear my grandfather’s light snores inside the cabin, and I know he’s asleep. I take a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill my lungs.
Naturally, my phone goes off at that moment. It’s a call from some social media app, I think. I don’t recognize the name—and don’t want to talk to anyone—so I hit the ignore button. Honestly, who would be calling at this hour, anyway? Nobody with anything good, that’s for sure. And now I’m starting to sound like Gramps. Shit.
Seconds later, I get another notification from the same profile, but it’s several direct messages in rapid succession. Christ, I bet this is some sort of spam thing. I read an article where people get into your private clouds and shit and blackmail you with your own nudes. Not that I have nudes in my cloud. Those are private and better seen in person, anyway. I delete the messages without reading them. No, sir, no blackmailing me today. I don’t have any money to spare anyway. Thankfully, whoever it is decides to give me a break. Fuckin’ finally.
Just as I’m about to take another sip of my beer, I hear a truck coming up the mountain road. No one comes up here. I freeze, my heart racing as I quickly set the beer down and stand up. I know who it is before the truck stops and curse myself for not keeping my home security app open. Should have known I’d see him soon since he hadn’t come calling in a while.
I glance longingly at my beer and sigh, knowing I’ll need something stronger to deal with this shit. You’d think he would have softened some with age, but he’s only grown to be an even bigger asshole over the years. I’ll never know how my mother ever thought marrying him was a good idea. He’d been attractive when he was younger and wealthy. Maybe she had been lonely and tired, and he saw her as easy prey. But there was a fly in the ointment of his perfect plans: me. Well, that and turning into a walking felony with a penchant for meth and beating women.
“What do you want?” I growl, trying to keep my voice steady, when he stumbles from the truck to my porch. At least I was outside, and he didn’t come up, banging on the doors and worrying Gramps.
“I need money,” he slurs, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Just a lil bit, ’s all.”
“I don’t have any money for you,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “You need to leave.”
He takes a step forward, and I can see the anger in his eyes. “I’ll leave when I get my money,” he says, his voice rising. “You owe me, boy.”
I feel my own anger rising, and I know I need to keep my cool. I can’t let him provoke me into a fight. “I don’t owe you anything,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You need to leave now.”
He glares at me, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. I know he’s trying to decide whether or not to push me, but in the end, he says, “You’ll give me what you owe me, or I’ll be back to talk to Luke about it.”
I watch him go with a mix of relief and anger. I know he’ll be back, and I’ll have to deal with him again. But for now, I’m just glad he’s gone. I close the door and lean against it, letting out a deep breath. Frank is a tomorrow problem, so for now, I just need to relax.
