Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay

by Babette de Jongh

  His heart had soared with happiness that Sean would want to stay with him enough to have a pet. And, a relationship with a beloved animal would be another reason for Sean to visit as often as possible. But then his heart plummeted because he hadn’t told Sean, either, that he planned to flip the estate. He hadn’t told anyone but Delia, his real estate agent. Why he was keeping his plans so quiet, he wasn’t quite sure; maybe because he didn’t want to be seen as a failure if his plans didn’t succeed. “I’ll think about it.”

  On the way to the barn with Sean, Quinn stuck his phone in his back pocket and shoved the potential problem he may have set in motion out of his mind. The text he’d sent to Delia earlier hadn’t been answered yet. But it was the weekend already, and Realtors had lives, too. If she had taken him seriously and instituted some sort of complaint to the city, he would go to the city clerk’s office Monday morning and pull the plug.

  Simple. Easy. Practically done already.

  Quinn put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “How did you like dinner?”

  “You were right when you said that Abby can cook like nobody’s business.” Sean swung a Ziploc bag of sliced apples Abby had prepared against his leg. “I even liked the broccoli.” He let out a long, manly burp of satisfaction. “She ought to open a restaurant.”

  “You should tell her that.”

  “She’s a nice lady,” Sean continued. “And pretty, too. Maybe you should date her or something.”

  Quinn just about choked. “Or something?”

  Sean broke away from Quinn at the barn’s open door. “Whoa!” He ran to the first stall, where the two ponies stuck their heads over the open half-door. “Horses!”

  Ponies, horses, short horses, whatever. Quinn couldn’t help but smile at Sean’s enthusiasm.

  “Here, give me the bag.” Quinn took the bag of apples from Sean and handed over one slice. “Hold it in your palm with your hand flat, like this.” He demonstrated the way to present the apple and press it up into the horse’s (pony’s, whatever) mouth so it couldn’t bite his fingers. “See?”

  When one of the ponies nibbled up the apple slice from Sean’s palm, he giggled like a girl. Quinn loved seeing his kid so happy. “Cool, huh?”

  “Yeah!” Sean dug into the bag for another slice and presented it to the other pony. “What are their names?”

  Quinn pointed to the wipe-off whiteboard next to the stall. “Sunshine and Midnight.”

  Sean scoffed. “Lame.”

  “Abby says most of the animals here are rescues; they usually keep the names they came here with.”

  Sean stroked the white blaze that streaked up the middle of Sunshine’s butter-colored face. “Usually?”

  “Abby says that sometimes the animals want to keep their old names, and sometimes they want a new name to mark a new phase of their lives.” Sounded like twaddle to him, but Sean would probably think it was cool that the animals had a choice in their names. Or maybe he’d think it was twaddle.

  Sometimes, Quinn felt like he knew nothing about his son.

  Sean nodded. “Cool.” He petted the white blaze on Midnight’s predictably black forehead, then moved down the line to the donkeys.

  Quinn handed over another apple slice. “Elijah is the bigger one. Miriam is his mother.”

  “Did they choose their names?” Sean asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Sean scratched Elijah’s head. “I think they did.”

  By the time they had passed out apple slices to all the animals and done the evening feed for the barn animals, full dark had fallen, and the cicadas and tree frogs and crickets roared in the tall live oaks outside the barn. Sean had been brimming with excitement even before Quinn turned on the aviary light. They went inside the lockout and Quinn closed the door behind him. “Don’t rest your hand on the wire,” he cautioned his son before introducing the parrots.

  “Can I hold one?” Sean asked.

  “Not only no,” Quinn replied, “but hell no.”

  “I do want to work here,” Sean said. “Especially if that means I get to eat here, too.” Quinn hadn’t heard this much enthusiasm in his son’s voice since—well, since he couldn’t remember. “Do you think Mom will let me? Maybe she could drop me off in the mornings on her way to work and pick me up on her way home?”

  “All we can do is ask,” Quinn replied. His heart soared with hope at the thought of spending so much time with his son, but reality swooped in like a big flyswatter and smacked it down. Melissa was extremely unlikely to allow Sean to spend that much time here, even when it meant he’d otherwise be sitting home alone while she worked at the exclusive boutique she’d bought with her half of the equity money.

  “Do you think she’d let me come on weekends, too? And could I bring some friends along to hang out while I work?”

  “We would have to ask Abby about having friends along. And maybe we should do a trial run during our scheduled visitation days this summer before asking your mom for more. You don’t want to hurt her feelings.” Because Melissa with hurt feelings was about as dangerous as a wild boar with an arrow stuck in its side. Quinn clapped Sean on the shoulder and changed the subject. “You brought swim trunks, right? I thought we might go for a quick swim after we head over to our side of the fence.”

  “Yeah!” Sean leaped up and punched the air. “I love it here!” Then he ran for the farmhouse, leaving Quinn standing by himself.

  Chapter 14

  Early the next morning just as the sun was beginning to shine through the bedroom curtains, Georgia growled, then sat up in bed and barked. Her ears pricked forward, her gaze locked on the bedroom doorway.

  Abby sat up and glanced at the clock; just after 7:00 a.m., about a half hour too early for Quinn’s arrival.

  Someone tapped at the glass door. Georgia growled, but her tail wagged, too. She hopped off the bed and ran out of the bedroom. A second later, Abby heard the dog door bump. Georgia’s happy barroo! let Abby know this was a friend. Sean must have woken Quinn early.

  Abby put her knee on the scooter she’d parked next to the bed and hopped into the kitchen. She slid the glass door open to see Sean kneeling on the patio and caressing Georgia’s ears. Quinn wasn’t there.

  “Hey, Sean. Good morning. Where’s your dad?”

  Sean looked up and grimaced. “Still sleeping.” He handed over Wolf’s daily delivery of newsprint. “And I’m bored. Can I help with the chores?”

  “Let’s get some breakfast going first, okay?” Quinn always did the chores before breakfast, and Abby wasn’t about to let Sean do the chores without supervision. “Come on in.”

  She hit the button on the coffee maker, then leaned down awkwardly over the scooter’s handlebars to open the narrow drawer beside the oven.

  “Let me.” Sean opened the drawer for her, revealing vertical dividers where the sheet pans were stored. “What do you want?”

  “I need the big, flat cookie sheet on the left and the smaller one on the far right.”

  She turned on the oven, then cut parchment paper to fit each of the sheet pans. Sean parceled out frozen biscuits on the smaller pan. (Yes, frozen biscuits. Guilty as charged. She hoped he wouldn’t snitch.) She arranged bacon strips across the larger pan, then covered it with aluminum foil.

  Quinn tapped on the door, then came on in. “I see you’ve kidnapped my son.”

  “Yes.” Abby started breaking eggs into a bowl. “My evil master plan is already a success. Do you want to know the next step I have planned for world domination?”

  “Not really.” Quinn peeked in the oven.

  Abby swatted him with the dish towel—at least, she tried to. The damn scooter wasn’t as agile as she’d prefer. “You have a half hour to do the chores before breakfast. Y’all better get busy unless you want to eat cold eggs.”

  “Awww,” Sean pouted. “I wanted
to help you cook.”

  “Come on, dude.” Quinn herded Sean out the door, with Georgia right behind them. “You’re on the clock.”

  Abby sliced a red bell pepper—western omelets and skillet potatoes today, she decided—while Stella, the new kitten, twined at her ankles and purred, hoping for a handout.

  The days with Quinn had settled into a homey domestic routine of morning chores and breakfast—sometimes by the pool—followed by several hours of alone time while Quinn worked on his property. When Quinn wasn’t around, Abby did housework or sent out résumés through the job-search sites she’d been using to find an office-manager position. (So far, no bites, even after she’d widened her search radius.)

  Every day while he did the evening feed, she cooked dinner, and they’d usually sit by the pool with wine afterward. They’d have been in the pool every evening if not for her stupid cast, and Abby knew she should be thankful for that situation, because if they were in the pool together, the eventual outcome would be drifting together followed by kisses, followed by…

  Abby shut the door on that thought.

  Just as well Sean was here for the weekend, because even with the added level of difficulty presented by the cast on her foot, she had come dangerously close to letting Quinn venture into below-the-waist territory. Once that happened, she knew it would all be over but the shoutin’. They’d sleep together, and she’d fall in love. Bad, bad idea.

  She had no business falling in love. A summer fling might have been possible if Quinn had been less charming or intelligent or helpful around here. But unfortunately, he possessed all the qualities she’d be looking for in a man, if she were looking. Well, except for the fact that he had a kid. A nice kid that she’d also be in danger of caring way too much about.

  A heady and horrible combination she should stay well away from if she wanted to keep her peace of mind. Sure, Abby still hoped to be a mother one of these days, even though she knew that loving another child wouldn’t banish the ache of losing Emily. But now wasn’t the time. She needed to heal, and she had to do that on her own. “Moving forward,” she said out loud. “Take care of yourself before you take on anyone else.”

  Besides, it was becoming clear that any suitable job she might find was likely to be far from here. She chopped a yellow onion with more gusto than necessary, filling the air with a sharp, biting scent that made her eyes water.

  The house phone rang, and she quickly washed her hands before scooting to Reva’s office area—a converted coat closet—and picking up.

  “Hey,” Reva said. “I have a short break between classes and wanted to check in.”

  Abby stuck the phone between her shoulder and her ear and scooted back toward the kitchen. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Did you ever talk to that wolf dog again?”

  Shit, no. Abby started setting the table. “I haven’t seen him. I know he’s eating the food Quinn—I mean, the food I’ve been putting out by the side of the road.”

  Silence. Judgment. Abby shouldn’t have changed her story midsentence.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t made time to connect in—or try to—but I promise I’ll do it this afternoon.”

  “Ask him where he’s been sleeping at night. The answer might surprise you.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  Reva laughed. “Nope. You have to learn to trust yourself, and you won’t do that if I keep holding your hand. Hey, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later.”

  After breakfast, Abby shooed Quinn and Sean out and cleaned the kitchen by herself. The scooter forced her to do everything more slowly, so she let the whole kitchen-cleaning exercise become a contemplative experience. She even washed the dishes by hand instead of using the dishwasher.

  With her hands in the warm soapy water, Abby’s thoughts drifted back to her childhood summers with Aunt Reva, when she’d stood on a stepstool and helped Reva wash dishes. Abby’s parents had been so completely wrapped up in their own lives that shipping her off for a whole summer each year hadn’t caused a blip on their parental radar screen. They had hardly ever called, and Abby hadn’t missed them. She had loved pretending that she was Reva’s daughter and not just her niece.

  Reva had tried, even then, to teach Abby how to communicate with animals. And Abby had pretended that she could. Sometimes it had felt so right, as if she really was communicating. But now, seeing it from a grown-up perspective, Abby wondered if she been so hungry for Reva’s mothering that she had convinced herself in order to please Reva. Abby did believe it was possible to communicate telepathically with animals; she’d seen Reva do it too many times to doubt. But she wasn’t sure of her own ability.

  Reva had always said it was okay to let it be what it was, either real or pretend, and not to worry about it. Reva said that one day, Abby would have a communication experience that couldn’t be explained away, and when that happened, she would understand and accept her abilities.

  That day hadn’t come yet, though Abby had experienced glimpses of clarity that felt real. But it seemed that whenever she noticed the door of communication opening, it quickly slammed shut. Maybe she was the one doing the slamming, without meaning to. Maybe she was so afraid of being wrong that she hadn’t allowed herself to really try.

  Something about the slow, solitary work of cleaning the kitchen—moving meditation, Reva called it—made Abby feel relaxed and receptive, sort of the same way she’d felt when Reva talked her through the conversation with Wolf the other night when she was waiting at the vet. Maybe now would be a good time to have that conversation, or at least try to.

  Abby took the scooter to the sofa and sat with her foot up on the scooter’s seat. Her phone, which she’d been keeping in the scooter’s basket, buzzed. A text from Reva, Abby knew before she checked the message.

  Scan his health, see if you notice any aches or pains, and if so, where it hurts.

  Ask him where he’s been sleeping at night.

  Ask him where he’d like to be fed.

  Ask him to show himself.

  The tractor started up next door. Abby leaned back against the couch cushions and did the relaxation thing of breathing and imagining her body as an empty straw through which communication would flow. She imagined Wolf coming to sit in front of her. She tried the body-scanning thing Reva had taught her long ago, imagining that her body was Wolf’s body, as if she could slip her hands and feet into his paws, zip her body up into his skin, and become him. Then, she took another deep breath and let it out, and allowed her attention to go where it wanted.

  Her right side tingled; a tickling, tightening feeling, her skin itching, crawling, almost burning. She scratched the spot, and the burning sensation intensified, so she lifted up her shirt to make sure an insect wasn’t in there biting her. Nothing.

  Okay, so maybe he had fleas. Or maybe, she did.

  She took another breath and tried again. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to have paws instead of hands. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to have furry ears that stuck up, and a fluffy tail to wag. She imagined a beam of light scanning from her furry ears to her fluffy tail, and waited to see where her attention wanted to stick.

  Except for the spot that itched and burned, it didn’t.

  She blew out a breath and stood. “This is stupid.”

  She grabbed the handlebars of the scooter, put her knee on the seat, and tried to see how fast she could make it to the refrigerator. “World record, yay.”

  She wasn’t hungry this soon after breakfast, but her body required something to conquer the antsy feeling that had come over her. The chicken salad she’d made yesterday, no. Chicken salad on a bed of green salad, no, and no.

  A few spoonsful of Ben & Jerry’s Strawberry Cheesecake later, she went back to the couch and tried again.

  Stella, the bad little calico who’d pretty much decided that her only use
for humans was as a source of food and water, hopped into her lap and started purring. “Well, that’s a new attitude.” She petted Stella’s silky head. At Abby’s gentle touch, Stella hissed and jumped down, tail twitching with irritation. “Okay, then.” Maybe not such a new attitude after all. “Never mind.”

  Abby put the bad little cat out of her mind and refocused on her conversation with Wolf. She closed her eyes and imagined Wolf coming to sit in front of her, but he was already there, giving her a slit-eyed look. You left, she imagined him saying. I’ve been waiting.

  “Sorry. I’m here now.” She felt a stab of irritation, and let it go. “Where have you been sleeping?”

  Nothing. Reva always said that when you get nothing, it can mean you’ve asked the wrong… Wait. “Where have you been sleeping at night?”

  She saw an image of him curled up on her back patio. She saw his ears flicking when bugs bothered him; she’d been leaving the patio light on, hoping to discourage the raccoons, but the light attracted bugs, too.

  “Okay, I’ll leave the light off if you’re sleeping on the patio. Is that what you’re doing?”

  Same image.

  “Okay, got it. Where would you like to be fed?”

  He showed an image of him eating from a bowl on the patio.

  She imagined a band of raccoons coming to eat the food and fighting the cats.

  He showed the image of him curled up on the patio. I won’t let them come. I will protect everyone from harm. In her imagination, he lowered himself to his elbows and put his head on his paws. I won’t harm anyone, not even the chickens or the rabbits. I won’t need to eat them if you are feeding me.

  “Will you show yourself, so I can see you?”

  And just like that, his image in her imagination melted away.

  * * *

  Wolf slept hard that night. The bug-attracting light had been turned off, so he was able to rest without insects buzzing in his ears. The first few nights of his vigil, he’d slept lightly, waking often to chase away the masked intruders that seemed so humanlike with their little five-fingered hands and their ability to stand, and even walk, on their hind legs.