Because she slept in on work days so often. She pushed the sarcastic thought away. “No problem. I’ll go make my own.”
Cutting up a Granny Smith apple while the coffee percolated, she smeared the slices with peanut butter and took a large bite. But not even the mix of tart and sweet could improve her mood. James was leaving. If not now, then after his dad died. He had been doing just fine on his own, after all. He’d made that point blazingly clear.
She put her knife in the sink next to a stack of Harry’s unwashed dishes. Sarah rubbed her forehead. She wanted her house back to herself. Wanted to be alone so she wouldn’t have to put on a cheery face when all she wanted to do was cry. Was that too much to ask?
Picking up her coffee and her courage, she padded back to the living room. “Harry—”
He lifted his fist, like he was a special ops soldier telling her to stop, and shouted at the TV. “Where are your eyes? Or did Liverpool pay you off to act this blind?”
She sidled around the couch and stood next to the TV. “I think we should talk.”
He flitted his gaze from the screen to her and back again. “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you last night but you disappeared into your room with a bottle of wine.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It was only half-full.” Three-fourths, but not really his business either way. If this was parental concern, it was a little too late for him to act like a father. But that wasn’t the point. She took a deep breath. “So, you’ve been here a couple of weeks now, and—”
“I know. It’s been great, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Me and my little girl.” Harry reached for his coffee and drained the cup. “It’s a shame about Brad, though.”
“Yes, well, at least we got to know each other.” She could do this. She had a lot of practice telling James her mind. Surely the skill was transferable. “But I don’t want to monopolize all your time. You must want to get back to your life. It was so great of you to come up here to visit with me, and I’d love to return the favor.” Many, many months from now. She didn’t regret getting to know her biological father and would like to go to L.A. to visit him. Every once in a while. This might be one of those instances of distance making the heart grow fonder.
He beamed, the lines around his mouth deepening into grooves. “I know you would. You’re a good girl, Sarah Beth, looking out for your old man. I didn’t want to say anything, but me being up here has meant money is a little tight. A couple thousand or so would help out a lot.”
She blinked, too tired to even get upset. “That’s not what I meant. Wait…aren’t you on disability and social security? You get the same amount every month no matter where you are.”
He shrugged. “I also do a little work on the side. Under the table, you know? No need for the tax man to get involved. Since I’ve been up here with you, I can’t do my side welding work. Though getting to know you has been worth every lost penny.”
“I thought your back hurt too much to work.” He was scamming her so it shouldn’t surprise her he was scamming the government, too. But it did. She needed to wise up about people. She didn’t want to be as cynical as James, but surely a happy medium existed.
Harry scooted to the edge of the couch. “Technically my back is too bad for work. But there’s a lot of leeway in the diagnosis. You’re a medical professional. You understand that.”
Oh, she understood him just fine. He sat before her with his dyed hair, fancy watch, and mismatched-buttoned shirt, and he looked pathetic. He would never be the man her real dad was, and gratitude washed over her that her mom had found Robert Martineau.
But her bio dad was still family. And he looked so much like a sad, little puppy, her resolve crumbled. No, telling him to leave would be like one more smack on the snout with a rolled-up newspaper.
“I have to get to work,” she told him and fled.
She cursed herself on the drive to her office. How the hell had she gone thirty-some odd years through life without a backbone? Why would James have wanted to stay with someone like her? He was strong, assertive, and must have looked upon her weakness with pity.
She didn’t like being a pushover. And she still wanted Harry out of her house. She would ask him to leave, but there was something that should happen before he returned home.
She dialed Brad and put the call on speaker.
“What’s up?” he asked, his voice gruff. At least he was speaking to her.
“Hi, Brad.” She drummed her fingers along the steering wheel and pulled into the parking lot of her office. “Harry is going to be going home soon”—fingers-crossed—“and I was hoping the three of us could get together for dinner before he left.”
Silence on the other end.
“He drove all this way to meet us, and—”
“You. He came up here to meet you. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Half of our DNA comes from him,” she said quietly. “You must be at least a little curious about him.”
“No. I know who I am.” Brad’s voice was hard. “I don’t go around seeking approval from everyone, especially those who don’t matter. There’s nothing I can discover about myself from that man, and it’s sad as hell that you don’t feel the same.”
Her breath whooshed out of her. They were James’s words, or close enough. And what hurt the most was she was finally seeing that they might have a point. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t change. Couldn’t improve.
And that also didn’t mean Brad had a right to be cruel because she wanted a relationship with their bio dad.
She opened her mouth to tell him just that, and a dial tone filled her car. “That son of a beehive!” Right. Fine. She could get onboard the smaller family train. Brad would be the first member she’d kick off.
She stomped into the lobby, and a gray schnauzer greeted her with frantic yips. Each time he barked he jumped off the ground with all four legs, a mini-pogo stick.
Sarah’s anger melted and she knelt to pet the little guy. “Hi, Buster. Good to see you, too.” This was why she loved being a vet. No judgment from the animals, only love.
She smiled at Buster’s owner and took the leash. “I’ll take him on back. He’s in for his allergy booster shot, right?”
Mrs. Simpson nodded. “Yep. Oh, and we need some more of those heartworm pills.”
“Got it.” Sarah led the dog around the counter and greeted Melanie. Her assistant’s sunshine yellow caftan made Sarah’s head whimper in protest but she gave the woman a smile. “Morning.” She peeked over her shoulder at the computer. “How’s our day looking?”
“Pretty light.” Melanie plucked a pencil out of her bright pink bun, scratched her head with it, and then shoved it back in her hair. “Nothing more until this afternoon.” She glanced at Sarah and blinked. “You okay, hon? You’re looking a little rough.”
Sarah rubbed Buster’s side. The quiet day would give her time to trap some wild cats and give them medical attention. She needed to keep busy. Keep her mind off of— “I’m fine.” No need to think about him. A car honked in the parking lot. “I’ll take Buster back if you get his medicine ready.”
Melanie nodded. “You got it, boss.”
“Come on, Buster,” She led him down the hallway to the exam room as two more horns blared in the parking lot. It seemed like someone was having as bad a day as she was.
She helped the dog onto the table and made quick work of his inoculation. He swiped her cheek with his tongue. “Do you think my cats would kill me if I got a dog, sweetie?” She scratched behind his ear. “Because they don’t give me as many cuddles as I think I’m going to need.”
She rubbed her breastbone. She didn’t think even cute dogs would cure her heartache. He might not even be gone yet, but she missed James.
Beep, beep, beep.
“And that person is getting really annoying,” she told Buster. If James were here, he’d go out and tell the honker to lay off
the horn. In the strongest terms possible.
“Doc,” Melanie called from the front. “Sarah! You need to get out here.”
She snapped Buster’s leash on and hurried to the lobby. “What is it? What’s going on?”
Mrs. Simpson took Buster’s leash. “Uh, I think I’m just going to go out the back.” She hurried to the rear exit and disappeared.
Melanie pointed out the large front windows.
Four cars, each festooned with streamers with posterboard taped to the windows, slowly circled in the small parking lot. Each car honked as it rolled past her clinic.
“What on earth…?”
“Kimberlee.” Melanie crossed her arms over her ample chest. “I’m not buying another one of her vases. That chick is nuts.”
When the lead car reached the first turn, it stopped in the curve of the narrow parking lot and rolled back and forth until it could make the seven-point turn.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Sarah muttered.
Melanie snorted. “Kimberlee’s old caddy is too long for this lot. Serves her right. I hope she hits something.”
As Sarah’s car was currently out in the lot, she didn’t wish for the same thing. As the parade drove past again, Sarah read some of the posterboard. Keep Wild Cats Wild. No Animal Slavery. Stop #FFS.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I’m calling Joe.”
Beep, beep.
“I don’t think he can do anything. Driving in a parking lot isn’t illegal,” Melanie pointed out.
“When they drive like that, it should be.” On the next drive by, Kimberlee leaned toward the windshield and pointed her index and middle finger at her eyes, then flipped them toward Sarah.
Heat rose up her neck and face until it felt like her head was steaming. “Oh, for”—beep—“sake.” Sarah stomped to the door and yanked it open. “This stops now.”
Melanie trotted after her. “You swore. Like, the big one. I didn’t think you had it in you.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m so proud.”
“Sarah Martineau is a wimp no more.” She stopped on the curb, waiting for the crazy train to turn the corner and come back her way. “I’m done with being pushed around.”
Melanie pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Sarah. “For posterity. The day Dr. Martineau lost her shit.”
Sarah gave her the side-eye before stepping out into the parking lot. She planted her hands on her hips and stared down Kimberlee as she rolled slowly toward her.
Thankfully, she stopped. Sarah strode around to the driver’s side. She tapped on the window until Kimberlee rolled it down.
“Dr. Martineau.” She beeped her horn. “What can I do for you?”
“You can stop your selfishness and stay out of my business.” The other drivers in the parade lowered their windows, so Sarah raised her voice. “Feral Feline Services is a reality and it’s not going anywhere, no matter how many silly stunts you pull.”
“Selfish?” She put her car into park. “How am I being selfish? This is a cause I’m passionate about. This—”
“—is stupid.” Sarah shook her head. “Just because you have a perverse idea about freedom doesn’t give you the right to try to deny safety and wellness to our cat population.” She strode to the next car. “Hi, Julie. Glad to see you’ve lost your senses, too.” Before the woman could object, Sarah said, “Did you know that the average life expectancy of a feral cat is less than two years? That fifty percent of kittens don’t make it to their first birthday? Is that something you’re happy about?”
Julie blanched. “Only two years? My Mittens is twelve years old and still going strong.”
Sarah marched to the next car. “Hi, Selena. Have you ever watched an animal slowly wither away from disease, starve to death, without any assistance from humans? It’s a painful way for a cat to die. Is that what you want for our bluff cats?”
“Well, no, of course not…”
Sarah made it to the last car. “And you, Marla.” Sarah tapped her fingers on the roof of the woman’s SUV. She couldn’t think of any other horrible reasons feral cats should be cared for. Her mind whirred. “Do you know, uh, how many millions of birds feral cats kill a year? Do you want to help contribute to the decimation of the avian population?”
“Who cares about birds?” Kimberlee shouted back.
Marla, Selena, and Julie raised their hands out the car windows.
“Then I expect this is the last I’m going to hear about your nonsense.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “Right?”
“Yes, Doc.” Marla lowered her head and slowly put her SUV in reverse.
Sarah went to stand next to Melanie and watched as each car left the parking lot, their streamers looking a little defeated.
Or maybe it was just because Sarah was feeling so triumphant. Telling people off was fun. She rocked onto her toes. She’d wasted too much time keeping her mouth shut.
“That was awesome.” Melanie took one last picture of the departing cars. “I’ve never seen Kimberlee at a loss for words.”
Sarah huffed. “I may have shut her up, but she did do a good job of shutting me down. Did you know I’ve only raised ten dollars in donations? Ten dollars. People must have bought her crap.” Her lack of funding wasn’t going to stop her, though. Just slow her down.
“No one’s paying attention to her except to laugh.” Melanie held the door to the lobby open. “If you’re not raising money, it’s probably because you don’t know how to raise money, not from anything she did.”
“I put up a link to Paypal on my website. What else am I supposed to do?”
Melanie shook her head sadly. “I guess they didn’t cover marketing in vet school.” She tilted her head. “That butt pic Kimberlee posted of James got a lot of attention. You should have figured out how to monetize that.”
Sarah looked at the ceiling. James’s derriere, as fine as it was, wasn’t going to save her non-profit.
Melanie patted Sarah’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m aces at promotion. I’ll start researching, come up with a plan.”
“Thanks.” Sarah walked behind the counter and grabbed her keys. “Hold down the fort, will you? I need to speak to a couple more people.” She was on a roll and wanted to keep up the momentum.
Melanie’s shoulders slumped. “You’re going to tell off more people and I don’t get to watch. Not fair.”
“You’ll survive.”
Melanie tipped her head. “This really is a brand-new Sarah.”
“Yeah, well after hearing you, Brad, and James telling me I’m a doormat every other day, it finally sank in.”
“Boyfriend, brother, assistant, all laying into you,” Melanie said. “Sweetie, you’re getting it from all sides, and not in the fun way. I’m sorry for my part in it.”
“Don’t be. It’s time I changed my ways.”
A wrinkle appeared between Melanie’s eyebrows. “Don’t go changing too much. There are lots of people who love you the way you are. Just, maybe an eensy bit tougher.” She held up her fingers, mere millimeters apart.
Be herself, just a little bit tougher. That she could do.
“So, what are you going to do?” Melanie asked.
“I’ve got one person to put in his place and another person to get out of my place.” She headed for the door. “And one thing I’ve learned is delaying doesn’t make uncomfortable conversations go any easier.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Her dad’s driveway was packed with cars. Cars she recognized. Sarah stomped up the porch steps and blew through the front door. The dining room table was set with plates and silverware, but all her siblings were crowded in the kitchen, supervising Brad as he made sandwiches.
Sarah planted her hands on her hips. “Thanks for inviting me for lunch.”
“We did.” Connor popped a potato chip in his mouth. “Check your phone,” he mumbled around his crunching.
Digging her phone from the bo
ttom of her bag, she saw she had a missed message from her brother. “Oh.” Her righteous indignation deflated, along with some of her nerve. She sucked it back in. This wasn’t about lunch. She was here for Brad.
She pointed at the oldest brother. “We need to talk.”
Connor paused, another potato chip halfway to his mouth. Joe and Ellie exchanged raised eyebrows.
Brad plated a sandwich, keeping his eyes lowered. “I think we’ve said everything there is to say about the subject.” Picking up the plate and a can of beer, he brushed past her out of the kitchen and headed out the front door.
“Son of a…” Clenching her teeth together, she drew in a large breath and restrained herself from launching at her brother’s back and taking him down the porch stairs. Barely.
“Ooh, Sarah is pissed.” Ellie elbowed Joe. “She almost swore.”
“I swear plenty.” Or she was starting to. It was probably a habit she should watch. She had delicate kittie ears at home she needed to protect.
“I liked the cute little foot stamp.” Connor grabbed the bowl of potato chips, holding it high on his chest and shoveling the snacks into his mouth. “That ‘eally got her point acrosh.”
“I didn’t stamp my foot,” Sarah bit out. She stomped toward the door. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Yesh, mam.” Connor’s and the rest of her siblings’ footsteps pounded down the steps behind her, sounding like a herd of wildebeests.
Brad disappeared into the open garage door, and Sarah stalked after him. Her dad was squatting inside the hollowed-out shell of his new car. He took the plate from Brad with a grunt and turned back to the frame with a squinty-eyed glare.
Sarah rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension. “We are going to talk, Brad. If I have to shoot you in your good leg to keep you immobile, I will. I know where dad keeps his guns.”
That earned her a side-eye from the man in question, but he shrugged and turned back to his car. He’d heard enough threats of bodily harm from his kids that it no longer seemed to faze him.
Brad shot a longing look at the rear staircase up to his apartment and sighed. “Fine. Get whatever you want to say off your chest.”
Shelter Me Page 20
