Windfall

by Tempe O'Kun

  Thinking, he gave a slow nod. “Your mom’s always been one for getting things done.”

  She leaned against him and looked out over the wooded landscape. “Maxie, this is super primitive.” She wrung dirty paws together, a fine layer of grit between. “We’re like, an hour’s walk from the nearest shower.”

  A snicker snuck from his shapely muzzle. “Well, there’s a pond a little ways over there. You could go for a swim if you’re feeling sticky.”

  Kylie bit back a remark about precisely how sticky he made her. Still, it was too good an opening to let escape entirely: “Didn’t think to bring my swimsuit. We’d have to go skinny dipping.”

  Silence. For a heartbeat, she wondered if she’d gone too far and tension wound in her belly. Had that departed too far from their normal old joking around?

  But then he barked a laugh, a little louder than the stupid joke called for, a little higher than normal for the broad-chested dog. “Heh, y-yeah. Guess we should have planned ahead.”

  Grimacing, the lutrine unloaded her backpack: chocolate bars, graham crackers, and a jumbo bag of marshmallows. Using his pocketknife, she sharpened a suitable stick, jabbed a sugary cylinder onto it, and poked it into the cheery fire.

  The marshmallow erupted into flames.

  “Rotted fish guts!” The cursing lutrine waved the stick around, but only seemed to fan the flames. Her voice squeaked up another octave as she tried to extinguish the marshmallow. “Herring bones and fish guts!”

  Paw to his mouth, Max woofed a laugh.

  “Carp!” Her romantic evening burning away like a rogue marshmallow, she shook the stick harder.

  The flaming blob sailed off, blazing, over her shoulder to splat against the tent.

  With a yelp of shock, the husky jumped up and slapped a thick paw down on the flames to swat them out. Almost crying from laughter, his hot paw trailed back a black and white stretch of charred sugar.

  The otter spat an indignant sputter. “I-it’s not funny!”

  “It’s hilarious.” Sitting back down beside her, he wiped a tear from his eye and got sugar on his chiseled muzzle in the process. “You almost burned down the tent!”

  “Shut up!” She hissed with lutrine outrage, ears burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the fire. “I haven’t done this in years.”

  Those big, gentle paws took her roasting stick, popped a fresh marshmallow on it, and leaned it on the ring of rocks. He spun it slowly, toasting the confection to a caramel brown. Three hundred and sixty degrees later, he pulled it from the fire and nodded with approval. He set a square of chocolate on a graham cracker on a napkin on a hot rock. Just as the chocolate began to reflect firelight, he squished the mallow onto it and placed another graham atop it. He handed the neat little confection to the otter.

  Resentment still simmering, she took it in both hands. It looked really good. Against her spiteful judgement, she nibbled around the edge. The s’more dissolved with each bite into a crunchy, delicious ooze. In spite of the mood, she chittered with delight, tail swaying off the back of the log. “This is amazing, actually.”

  “Just takes a little patience.” He began his roasting rotation anew. “And practice.”

  “It’s not fair, Maxie.” The lutrine munched away at her sticky snack. “You always seem to have a handle on life.”

  His muscular shoulders offered a shy shrug. “Whenever I go home from being a TV star, I’m just a beta who’s good at heavy lifting. Gives a guy some perspective.”

  Her tail swayed to brush his. “Glad you could sneak away from the pack to come out here.”

  “You’re my best friend.” He bumped his knee to hers as he popped another mallow —a raw one, this time— into his muzzle. “Of course I did.”

  She smiled up at him. He still had a speck of goo sticking out from the corner of his muzzle where he couldn’t see it, and it made him look so goddamn cute her bad mood took another hit. She, on the other hand, probably looked like the “before” picture in a public service announcement on basic grooming. Sticky traces of marshmallow fluff clung to her paws and whiskers, collecting a very non-seductive layer of dirt. She tried to wipe it away and only managed to smear it around and get it on her webs.

  Silence reigned. They stared at the fire.

  He fetched a bigger stick and poked a burning log to its side to get at the embers. Those gentle blue eyes stared into the shifting glow. “Really it’s the big stuff I’m not doing so hot with. There are moments like this, where everything makes sense and I know we can deal with any little crisis that comes up. But then I try to think of what I’ll be doing in five years and…I dunno.”

  She nodded, but said nothing. He was talking almost to himself and she didn’t want to kill his momentum.

  The fire popped and shifted and Max relocated his marshmallow to a safer bed of embers. “I mean, I probably don’t have much of a choice. We’ve only got so many more years of guest spots and signing DVD cases before I’ll have to get a real job. Maybe I should buy a car dealership. That’s what washed-up TV stars do, right?” Pain hid behind the joke.

  She reached out to give his hand a squeeze, favoring her clean fingers. “What about your writing? Haven’t heard much about your projects lately.”

  “I haven’t worked more than five minutes on any of them in months. Mom assumes I’m slacking if I’m on the computer. Gets me out working.”

  “That sucks.” Though, from what she could feel through his hoodie, she couldn’t argue with the results. If anything, he felt even more muscular than he’d been on set.

  “She’s practical. She has to be.” Still watching the flames, he shook his muzzle. “She…doesn’t understand yet; sees the writing, this trip, everything as just a way to cling to the past instead of focusing on a real job.”

  “She really thinks you’re a slacker?” She brushed her bangs from her eyes. “‘Cause I’d testify in your defense.”

  His paw patted her back. “No, she just thinks I’m crazy.”

  Kylie winced at the word. “Yeah, I don’t think crazy fits you, Maxie. You have as good of a grip on reality as anybody I know.”

  Red sunset light painted white fur pink. “As a fanboy turned semi-pro actor turned amateur writer, I’m the wrong dog to talk to about reality.” He pulled the steaming marshmallow from the campfire to cool. “But between me, you, and your mom, we’ve got the full spectrum of nuttiness.”

  “Heh, you’re probably right.” She fidgeted with a stick, breaking twigs off to throw in the fire. “I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do next either.”

  “You could keep acting.”

  “I think I want to, in the long run. If the right role came along, sure, but I just spent five seasons on set. I should live in the real world for a while.” She prodded the fire. “I have a bunch of relations in this part of the world I should get to know, but I haven’t seen most of them since I was little. Hard to know where to start. Awkward to just cold-call them, ya know?”

  “We’ll have to trade phones.” His gaze flicked to the rectangular bulge in his jeans pocket. “You can practice getting unsolicited phone calls from my family.”

  “And you can call my relations and play my public relations expert?” She gave a weak smile; her family could use some good PR, at least around town.

  The big husky crossed his legs daintily and nibbled an imaginary pen. “So when can I pencil you in for an appearance with Kylie Bevy? Rare opportunity here!”

  A laugh bubbled up from the otter. “Maybe you can act, after all.”

  Old memories and new stories rolled through the conversation. They used to have these heart-to-hearts all the time. Steady fire and warm laughter kept the darkness at bay. As night air cooled her fur, she scooted up against him and let him take some of her weight. He’d gotten her this tired, she reasoned, so he could prop her up. With sleepy nuzzles, her nose brushed against his shirt and under his chin. If she hadn’t, over the years of their friendship, gotten him used
to the constant physical contact otters enjoyed, getting this close might have gotten her further toward kissing him. As it stood, he just gave her a friendly hug.

  Kylie woke to the unusual sensation of being crushed by a load of fuzzy bricks. With butterflyfish dancing in her stomach, she looked down to see Max sprawled out of his sleeping bag, halfway on top of her: muzzle on her shoulder, arm over her chest, shoulder kind of crushing her. Less of a loving embrace, more like he’d interpreted her as part of a mattress. Steady breath stirred her hair. His scent, campfire smoke and pine, soothed and titillated her. She hadn’t felt this close to him in months.

  It made her heart flutter. Sure, the big lump of a dog wasn’t at his most appealing right at the moment; feeling a slight dampness on her shoulder, Kylie wondered if he’d drooled on her or if it was moisture just from his breath. Maybe camping hadn’t been as romantic as she’d hoped, but it hadn’t been a complete pain…except perhaps about the rocks and sticks poking her back. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have him atop her in a more amorous context and savored the weight of him for almost a minute before she woke the big lug enough to roll him off her. Nothing like the threat of spinal injury to take the wind out of a daydream.

  With a groan, he flopped off her, not really awake, their pelts clinging together with marshmallow residue. His jaws opened just enough to let his smooth, pink tongue loll out. His shirt had ridden up enough to expose his soft white stomach fur. Every second or so, his leg would twitch, just a little, like he was chasing something in his dream. All in all, she decided, he looked pretty cute for a big, goofy dog.

  Not wanting to get caught staring at him like a creep, she slipped out of the tent to sit on a log. The barest ribbon of smoke rose from the doused campfire logs; even Max’s methodical ways had failed to put it out completely. Tiny embers glinted here and there in the shadow of a branch-filtered sunrise. Forest birds sang the morning’s praises as Kylie gnawed on a stale marshmallow.

  — Chapter 5 —

  Crazy Wall

  That afternoon, Max followed Laura through the cluttered attic. Sunlight swirled on dust between the stacks of boxes. It smelled like old cardboard and ancient wood. He ducked under the odd angles of the roof and tried not to step on any heirlooms. She opened a window to let in the morning breeze.

  At her direction, he picked up an old dresser to be hauled downstairs. He grunted, arms straining around the bulk as he tried to maneuver it through the narrow attic door.

  Laura hovered behind him, doing her best to peer over his shoulder, worried for the safety of house and houseguest alike. “Are you sure it’s not too heavy, Max?”

  He shrugged. “More awkward than heavy.”

  “When I grew up here, this old place was full of life.” Laura looked out at the sheet-covered furniture. “By the time I left, it was empty.” She set a paw on the husky’s shoulder, steadying him. “Good to have warm bodies here again.”

  Max set down the dresser and hefted a few more boxes against a wall. He’d have been tired, but otters, being small, packed light boxes. “Are there cold bodies I should be worried about?”

  “Mostly in the walls of your bedroom.” She checked the contents of another box, then handed it to him with a laugh. “Actually, that’s pretty good. Gotta get that in a script.”

  The dog woofed a laugh and followed her upstairs. In the attic, they grabbed a few more items, the sound of hammering and sliding shingles stifling all but the most curt communication.

  “Thanks for the help.” Laura set down an age-stained chair to shut the attic door, dampening the sound enough to resume conversation. “I’d planned on hiring movers for this stuff.”

  “It’s not a problem.” He shrugged. “Just earning my keep.”

  She rolled her eyes, motion traveling down her spine to her thick tail. “You’re a guest, Max, and practically family; I’m not going to have you spend the whole visit hauling boxes. You wanna take a break?”

  “Nah.” Max navigated the living room, his arms locked around a water-warped dresser, muscles stretching shirtsleeves. He smiled and shrugged. “Got time on my paws until Kylie gets off work.”

  The middle-aged otter followed with the chair. The straw stuffing pulverized whenever she moved, curling fine dust into hot summer air. “With all the stuff in the attic, I’m surprised more of it wasn’t ruined.”

  He nodded, then hefted the oak dresser, rotating it with care around a corner in the entryway.

  She snuck past him to open the front door. “How’d that scriptwriting class go?”

  “Fun.” The husky guided the chest of drawers through the front doors, never straying from his steady pace. “Nice to be on the other side of the page. Not sure if scripts are my thing, though. Having action and dialogue be so separated feels unnatural. Had more fun figuring stories out than writing them down.”

  “That’s how everybody feels.” She opened the bay of her old hatchback. “You might remember from some of our Strangeville brainstorming.”

  With a grunt of agreement, he hefted the ancient wooden hulk in place. The car’s suspension squawked its objection. He dusted the flakes of varnish off his shirt.

  The curvy otter finagled the chair into the passenger’s seat. “What else are you up to?”

  “I don’t really know.” An earnest shrug. “I have this big cool accomplishment behind me and no idea where to go from here. I could go back to Montana, but I’m worried in twenty years I’ll end up running a farm supply store or something.”

  A laugh rippled down her body. “A tragic fate.”

  His mobile rattled against the change in his pocket. He slipped the device out to find a photo of a grinning otter. “Text from Kylie.”

  “Better answer it.” Laura dusted her paws and found her keys. “She’s never been good at waiting.”

  He swiped a finger over the screen.

  Kylie Bevy: {The show jumped the shark with the feral leprechauns.}

  Max Saber: {Really? That’s before the zombie bear with sharks for arms. Which we literally jumped.}

  Kylie Bevy: {True! : o}

  The husky stuck the phone back in his pocket.

  Laura set her paws on her wide hips. “Tell you what: by the time you drop this off at the dump, she’ll be off work. Why don’t you pick her up?”

  “Sure. She was grumpy about walking back from camping this morning.” Max wagged as she handed him the keys. “A ride might cheer her up.”

  Smiling, Kylie stuck her phone back in her vest pocket. Having such ready access to Max made her wiggle with joy. She glanced around for something to distract her until he showed up.

  Shane prowled through old vinyls, claws careful not to scratch the sleeves. “So, I thought you said this visit wasn’t a booty call.”

  “It’s not!” The otter unpacked a collection of ceramic knickknacks and a pantheon of dark god tea cozies.

  The feline drew out an LP with a whisper of dust, reading the back with patient disinterest. “Only because he doesn’t know it is.”

  “I’m working on that…” She stroked her finger-webbing, then occupied her nervous hands by pricing the bric-a-brac.

  “Uh huh…” He swished his tail. “You could, you know, flirt with the guy. I’ve heard that can work.”

  “I don’t think you realize what I’m up against here.” She steepled her fingers, frowning in concentration. “Okay, story time. We had this one director on the show, skinny little squirrel named Ronaldo. He did maybe a third of the episodes in the early seasons. And he’s got this daughter, about our age. Tall, big boobs, spoiled completely rotten. He used to bring her around for ‘play dates’ on set, like I wasn’t, you know, working.” She shuddered at the memory of long, awkward conversations spent trying to study lines while pretending to care about celebrity gossip.

  Flipping another page, the cat scoffed. “And what, she tried to hit on this wonder dog of yours?”

  “I’m getting to that. At first she shows up maybe onc
e or twice a season—I assume whenever she couldn’t weasel out of it. But then Max joins the show and, hot damn, suddenly we can’t get rid of her. He’d been a permanent cast member for maybe six months when she first laid eyes on him, so I’d guess we were, what, sixteen?” She checked her math on her fingers, then barreled on. “Whatever. She starts piling on makeup and wearing low-cut shirts; he doesn’t bat an eye. She shows up on days her dad’s not even working, hinting at getting some ‘private acting lessons,’ like Max could act his way out of a paper bag.”

  Shane nodded. “And then you went into a jealous rage and threw her out a window by her hair.”

  “No.” She sighed. The idea had appeal, in hindsight. “Max and I were still getting to know each other. He hadn’t even moved in with Mom and me yet. Besides, it was pretty damn funny, like watching someone try to hit on a coffee table.” A chuckle. “But the best it ever got is the time Max comes and finds me with this weird half-amused look on his face. Tells me he just found the director’s daughter waiting for him in the costume trailer in nothing but her underwear. And he was still oblivious! He thought she was there to try on the outfits!”

  “Not to rain on your parade, but this guy sounds kinda dense. Or gay.” He considered. “Possibly both.”

  Kylie shot upright. “He’s not dense! He’s really smart. He’s just, I don’t know, humble. It honestly never occurred to him that this Hollywood bombshell would be throwing herself at some farm boy from Montana. As for the other thing…” She waved a dismissive paw. “Not a minute later she comes storming up, half-dressed and pissed. She jabs a finger to his chest and accuses him of making her look like an idiot. Tells him to take a good look because he’ll never have a chance at her again and storms off. When he finally, finally figures out what she’d been after be blushes so hard I’m sure his head is gonna burst into flames. He looked like we was so embarrassed he wanted to burrow into the ground and die.”