Page 12 of A Very Beary Christmas
“Sounds about right.”
“She moved away when we were still young,” I said, answering his unspoken question. “Not a day goes by when I don’t think about her, wonder what happened to her. I’d give anything to see her again.”
Greenish-yellow eyes stared back at me. “Hm. Well, son, you might just get your wish. Our Chloe usually stops in at some point. If you’ve got the time to stick around, that is.”
“I do.”
“Then I guess I’ll be getting you a slice of pie to chase that burger.”
Over pie and coffee, we talked about a lot of things. I knew it was a kind of test, an interrogation of sorts, but I didn’t mind. Chloe inspired those kinds of feelings in most people, her piece of shit father excluded. I was glad she had someone looking out for her.
I told the man—O’Malley—about the lodge and, as it turned out, he had heard of it.
I must have passed muster, because eventually, he started talking a little bit about Chloe. The more he shared, the more I was convinced it was my girl.
The dinner rush, which consisted of a dozen or so local townsfolk, came and went. By the time he cleared away the last plate, his eyes were filled with concern and his brow was furrowed. I noticed he kept glancing out the window, looking at a house across the street. I started looking, too. As darkness fell, a light came on, on the first floor, but the second floor remained dark.
I had already figured out that must be where Chloe lived. I had also figured out that something wasn’t right. O’Malley had been wiping the same spot on the counter for nearly five minutes.
“She’s usually here by now,” he muttered, as much to himself as to me. “It’s not like Chloe not to stop in and say hello, though sometimes she does lose track of time when she’s painting.”
Unless she was working with night-vision goggles, that wasn’t likely, and he knew it.
My bear was growing anxious again, wanting to go over and see for ourselves. “Maybe you should give her a call,” I suggested.
He shook his head. “Chloe doesn’t have a phone. But her landlady does.”
O’Malley reached behind him and grabbed the receiver from the old phone mounted on the wall then punched in a few numbers. It took several rings, but I finally heard an old, screechy voice answer on the other end. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Gladys, it’s Tom. Have you seen Chloe today? I got an old friend of hers here ... No? All right. I’m going to lock up and stop by ... Yes, I know it’s late ... All right, Gladys. See you in a few.”
He looked at me, no longer hiding the worry. “Gladys hasn’t seen or heard from Chloe since the storm.”
I stood up. “I’m coming with you.”
He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth as if he planned on arguing, but then nodded. “If I find out you’re lying to me about being her friend, boy, you’re going to feel the steel toe of my boot in your ass. You understand?”
I nodded, though we both knew a fox was no match for a bear.
He packed up a Styrofoam container of something before we walked across the street and knocked. An older woman opened the door almost immediately, covered from head to toe in shawls and blankets. I understood why when we stepped inside. The interior was almost as cold as the exterior.
“That woman’s purse is tighter than a dolphin’s asshole,” O’Malley muttered to me as we ascended the staircase. When we reached the second floor, he knocked. “Chloe, girl, it’s Tom O’Malley. You in there? I got some more stew for you.”
He knocked twice more before my ears picked up a thump and a shuffle.
“Thanks, Mr. O’Malley,” a weak voice said from the other side of the closed door. “You didn’t have to do that. Just leave it there and I’ll get it later.”
“What’s going on, Chloe? You okay?”
A series of racking coughs sounded before she answered, “Just a cold. Don’t worry.”
“Open the door, Chloe.”
“I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Open the door, Chloe. Ain’t leaving until you do.”
My heart beat wildly at the sound of the deadbolt sliding open. I held my breath as the door slowly opened. After all these years, was I finally going to see my mate again?
