Windfall

by Tempe O'Kun

  “What if he’s unsure about all this, but playing the strong and silent type?” She shrugged. “I mean, I don’t think he is, but…”

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “Barring telepathy, you’ll have to take his word.”

  “What if Max and I just aren’t right for each other?” Her gaze met her mother’s. “Over the long term, I mean.”

  “Well, that at least I can help with…” A few clicks and Laura turned the computer around for her to see a video titled “I Told You So” springing open on the screen. She hit play.

  The video feed started in the kitchen of their apartment, then proceeded into the small living room. A younger but still huge Max lay on his stomach on the sofa reading a script. A scrawnier Kylie lay on her stomach on his back, reading the same copy, legs kicked up in the air. The view zoomed in as a nearby fan blew his long hair in her face, which she batted away with a simper. Neither seemed to notice the camera.

  The footage turned jittery as, without cutting away, Mom walked back into her room and turned the camera on herself: She was grinning like a cat in a colorful simile. “I’m calling it right now. You guys are gonna be an item.” Pure lutrine mischief lit her face. “Because that was the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen and anything else would be a waste.”

  Kylie squawked and squirmed against the floorboards. “I don’t remember this! How do I know this wasn’t cooked up in special effects?”

  “Are you kidding?” Laura laughed, a sound that washed through the whole room. “Effects cost money. I can make fun of you for free.”

  The slimmer otter squirmed. “Does this mean we should’ve done this earlier?”

  “Being friends first is far from a waste of time.” She turned the laptop back to face her with a distant smile. “As I’m sure your father could verify, if he weren’t too busy raising another kid in another state.”

  “Harsh, Mom.” The younger Bevy looked up. Her tail curled like a question mark. “Have you had that video on your computer all these years?”

  “And other places.” She closed the laptop and took a victorious sip of her coffee. “I’ve been keeping this copy handy since Max got here.”

  As the otters watched the sunlight play over the lily pool’s ripples, Kylie felt a word bubble up from her heart: “Thanks.”

  Laura glanced around the side of her glasses, smiling. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

  Max sat up straight on the sofa, trying to keep his cool. He’d never had many interviews and none since the final publicity push. Beside him, Kylie melted across the cushions with lutrine suppleness.

  In the middle of the living room, Karl straightened his webcam a little, watching as the video feed recorded onto his computer. Scooting back into view, he scratched the base of his horn, then steepled his thick fingers. “Welcome, fellow Strangers, to a special video edition of Strange Times. Today, I have the super-amazing honor of having—” He paused to get his breathing under control. “—Max Saber and Kylie Bevy as guests.” Biting his lip, he turned to toss them a frantic wave.

  Kylie waggled her fingers. “Hey.”

  Max tried not to look at the camera and just pretend it was a normal conversation with Karl, if those existed. “Umm, hi.”

  “It’s really great to have you guys here.” He bounced a little in his borrowed kitchen chair, causing a few uneasy creaks. “The podcast has gotten a lot of new listeners since you moved to town.”

  “I bet.” The otter rolled her eyes.

  “So! Umm, let’s talk about the series finale.” A thin veneer of calm fell back of over the rhino as he settled into his comfort zone. “The takeaway for most fans was that Sandy and the crew were tired of fighting monsters and that Cassie and Serge were stepping up.”

  “That’s a fair assessment.” The husky nodded. “Tammy and Sandy pretty much go back to their normal lives.”

  Kylie sat up to use the sofa as intended. “Egbert’s life was never normal to begin with, so it doesn’t change at all.”

  “Right. Reading arcane texts, teaching the occasional class, palling around with his simulacrum.” Max swept a paw her way. “And Damon sacrificed himself to destroy the Tribunal once and for all.”

  The rhino got a little misty-eyed. “That was really bittersweet! Especially when he rode into their board meeting on his motorcycle from that other building’s roof with the sidecar full of enchanted dynamite.”

  She chittered a chuckle. “And then he stayed on the motorcycle, drove off set, and we never saw him again.”

  “Wow, really?” Karl sat and blinked for a moment.

  “Yep.” The otter nodded. “To this day.”

  The rhino blinked. “So he’s…method acting?”

  “Something like that.” Kylie smirked. “But my mom assured us our characters would go on fighting monsters.”

  Karl’s little tail whipped against the chair. “We’ve heard rumors Laura Bevy turned down offers for Strangeville video games, just like the episode novelizations and board game.” He squirmed, leaning forward. “Why is that? Does she consider the show over?”

  Max shrugged. “She wants to make sure any Strangeville material is true to the canon and spirit of the show.”

  The giddy, armored interviewer nodded. “That’s good! I mean, that’s great, but it doesn’t give fans of the show much to work with. Is there anything she’s willing to authorize?”

  Seated on the sofa next to Kylie, the dog exchanged a quick glance with her. “Actually, she has authorized one thing…”

  “Really?!” The rhino froze mid-bounce and cleared his throat. “I mean, what would that be?”

  “A blog. From the point of view of Cassie and Serge.” Max smiled, nervous ears drooped. “By me. Approved by Ms. Be— er, Laura, of course. Basically, they’re whole new episodes.” He glanced to his lover; this would be their version of the journals, really.

  “Really?” His thick grey jaw dropped.

  Kylie gave an amused nod. “Really.”

  The rhino’s brow furrowed. “This isn’t like the Season Three dream thing? Because the forums are still debating that.”

  Max shrugged. “How do you know the dream thing isn’t part of it?”

  Karl’s brain seemed to churn through that notion for a second. Then he snapped back to reality. “And does Kylie have input on these…episodes?”

  The otter slithered to a sassier position. “I’m in charge of the steamier scenes.”

  Heat rushed to Max’s ears. “There aren’t going to be steamy scenes.”

  Kylie patted his paw. “He’s just shy. They’re actually quite sensual.”

  The rhino double-checked that his system had recorded that exchange, then turned to face them again. “Can I ask who these scenes involve, if they exist?”

  A gaze passed between the pair. In full view of Karl’s webcam and the world, she kissed him.

  Star-strewn night spread over Kylie and Max in all its inconceivable depth. They lay on a hillside at the edge of town, looking up at the heavens. The husky breathed out a contented sigh.

  “I’m really glad you didn’t leave.” As she scooted closer, her paw closed around his. “For lots of reasons.”

  He squeezed back. “Why would I leave when you give me adventure and blowjobs?”

  “You’re terrible!” She elbowed him. “I thought you were the modest one.”

  “I am.” He turned to smile at her, cool grass tickling his whiskers. “You should hear what comes out of your muzzle.”

  She groaned, then studied the boundless firmament. “It’s kinda nice to know there’s someone else out there.”

  “Yeah… Now if we could get them to break into our house and throw us around like beanbags…”

  “Hey, we took on an alien and made a blog out of it.” She sat up, arms around her knees, eyes on him. “I call that a victory.”

  He wagged and sat up too.

  She kissed his nose, then looked back toward the house. “Wanna go in and watch Vow of Violence? I finally
found a copy with English subtitles.”

  “Sure.” Max pulled her closer and smiled. He didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t understand unknowable cosmic horrors. But he understood the girl he loved. Not a bad place to start.

  In fact, now that he’d fought a monster, telling his mom he’d be staying for more than the summer didn’t seem all that scary.

  — Epilogue —

  Max careened a shopping cart of butter down the rocky slope.

  Kylie scampered after, collecting what few sticks of butter bounced free. “Hurry! It’s starting!”

  “I know!” The husky growled as he shoved the cart through a deep patch of gravel. His eyes locked on a plume of smoke rising from the shore ahead and picked up his pace. Frantic shouts echoed up the cliffside.

  “Oh no! They’re already here!” The otter dumped an armload of butter sticks into the basket and hauled it faster. With a spray of pebbles, their emergency dairy supply burst onto the beach.

  The shoreline writhed with frantic activity. Waves surged and retreated, revealing a cavorting army of crabs. A dozen otters waded and waddled, snatching up crustaceans to deposit them in willow baskets and commandeered laundry hampers. On the shore, Laura organized the rollick of lutrine chefs who manned the boiling pots over cook-fires.

  “We’re here!” Arms waving, Kylie called out to the group. “We made it!”

  A general cheer arose from the otters; a few raised flailing crabs in salute.

  The canine swung his cart to a stop and panted before the row of fires. A chittering wave of chest-high otters swarmed up and took the butter. Though he tried his best to remember their names, they scampered too fast and too many. He’d have been in danger of misplacing Kylie too, had she not gotten his scent onto herself with great enthusiasm an hour before. At the end of the frenzy, he and the cart stood with a single tub of margarine that had been bought by mistake.

  Max felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Karl just posted a photo of us running down the street with the butter.”

  “Tell him to come out.” Kylie beheld the butter as her relations began unwrapping it into pots. “I’m surprised the grocery store let us clear out their whole butter section.”

  He sent the reply, smiled, then switched apps and tapped out a quick message.

  Howl: {I am a lucky dog.}

  Kylie’s second uncle padded up with a crate of crabs, set it down on the gravel, then hooked his thumbs in the waist of his Bermuda shorts and grinned around a sprig of seaweed in his teeth. “When otters, especially Bevys, show up and try to buy all your butter, you sell them all your butter.”

  “I can drink to that, Thomas.” Laura tipped a bottle of seaweed beer to her muzzle, then crossed her arms at the couple. “Glad my minions got here in time.”

  Her daughter squawked: “Minion!”

  The dog steadied her shoulder. “You seem to have matters under control.” He turned to survey the beachfront.

  The crowd wore a mix of waders, galoshes, clamdiggers, and board shorts. From the next beach up, another otter sailed a Schwimmwagen ashore, the honk of its horn chasing a scuttle of crustaceans toward them. A few more washed out the supply of clams. Otters too young to be trusted with crab collection heaped seaweed in a large pit for the accompanying clam bake…and onto each other.

  “Thomas Creel.” Kylie’s uncle offered his paw, seaweed sprig sticking from his greying muzzle. “So you’re the handsome dog who swept Kylie off her feet?”

  Like the well-trained dog he was, Max shook hands. “More like the other way around.”

  “Seems like just yesterday she was a little cork float.” He laughed, looking very much like the otter on his brewery logo. “You’re from Montana, right? Rancher? Where’s your rope?” The potbellied otter looked him over. “Didn’t Laura tell you we wanted you to lasso Big Betsy this year?”

  He tilted his head at the notion of crab-wrangling. “Big Betsy?”

  “Body the size of a basketball, she has!” He threw his paws in the air, a small slosh of beer sailing from his bottle. “Five meters from claw to claw!”

  Nodding slowly, the husky tried to dig up a reply, but a wave of otters rushed over him on the way to the cooking area. He spun to watch their antics.

  A general commotion arose around the cooking of crabs. The various pots filled with crustaceans as the air filled with squabbles about optimal cooking times. Meanwhile, the grand clam-master upended baskets of mollusks into the seaweed pit, then commanded the rolling of glowing-hot cannonballs in after them. These hit with gouts of steam, then sizzled under a layer of seaweed, wet tarps, and sand.

  The dog watched in awe as the Bevy clan laughed, shouted, and clacked tongs at each other. His family gatherings, while hardly somber affairs, never got this chaotic.

  Their food prepared, each lutrine attendee sprawled out in sunbathing chairs, plates of crab on his or her stomachs. A frenzy of crab-cracking commenced like a dozen tiny thunderstorms. Max watched in wonder and faint alarm as carapaces disintegrated under an onslaught of specialized crackers, cutters, mallets, tiny forks, oyster-shucking knives, and devices resembling lever-action can openers. Shards of shell shot off in all directions. Pups, having only a limited attention span for crab, chased each other with empty pinchers.

  Beside him, Kylie cracked, shattered, and munched her way through her second crab. Possibly third. Impossible to tell from the discarded shells, which lay in utter destruction. He kept a safe distance, lest his paw be mistaken for an especially furry crab.

  As if feeling his gaze, she glanced up with a churr, crustacean in both paws. A tiny string of crab meat dangled from one whisker. Her wide eyes met his as she offered a shrug. “What?”

  “Nothing, rudderbutt.” He leaned in and licked the crab off her muzzle.

  She giggled and fed him another chunk of buttered meat from her plate.

  These actions elicited wolf whistles from the accumulated otters.

  Ears ducked shy and flat, he woofed a chuckle and turned back to his girlfriend. “I’m just amused you’re so in the zone.”

  “Eat some crab!” Dumping the shells of her supper on the beach, she grabbed another steaming crustacean from a nearby platter. “We won’t be running out.” She prodded a claw at the ocean, where another wave of carapaced reinforcements made landfall, undeterred.

  Max dug into the offered crab with all the gusto a non-otter could manage, which spared him enough brainpower to watch the mass ingestion.

  As the sun set and her clan set upon the clams, Kylie took her lover for a walk down the beach.

  Her husky hopped from one foot to the other to avoid the scuttling crabs. He seemed to think it weird, but what could be more romantic than a beach covered with delicious food? A contented sigh left her chest as she watched them pass; even though she’d puke if she ate another one, it was still nice to just look at them.

  Kylie smiled. “Okay, so my family’s still crazy.”

  “No more than most.” He cocked his ears at her. “Did I ever tell you about my little cousin who chases her tail?”

  Smiling, she shrugged. “And it’s a good crazy.”

  The canine scampered past a rock, tail between his legs to protect it from an especially bold crab there. “I’m never going to think arthropods look weird again, after seeing Joe.”

  “Yeah…” She sighed. “I just wish we’d gotten better proof.”

  “Hey, cheer up!” He bumped her shoulder. “We saved the town.”

  “No, we managed to avoid destroying the town.” Arms crossed, the otter glanced up at him and blew a sigh through her whiskers. “Not really the same thing.”

  “Well, we learned your family isn’t actually crazy.”

  “Not all of us, anyway. And we lost our evidence of what Joe really was.”

  With a wink and a wag, his powerful arm slipped around her. “You did manage to pick up a roguishly handsome boyfriend…”

  Her glance dropped to the shoreline,
even as she leaned against his bulk. “Well yeah, I guess there’s that.”

  “…who’d really like to find a nice little secluded spot and take your pants off.”

  She snickered into his sweatshirt.

  Max’s phone buzzed again. He flipped it onto his palm, only to see his mother’s number flash. With only a moment’s pause, he clicked the call to voicemail and dropped it back in his pocket.

  The couple shared a look, knowing they have to deal with his pack at some point. But not now.

  For now, paw in paw, they looked out over the sea.

  For now, she had a best friend, a boyfriend, and a companion in shedding light the shadowy weirdness of the world.

  For now, life ruled.

  The sun set, the march of the crustaceans tapered off, and the otters staggered back to Bourn Manor. They draped themselves over various beds and sofas and fell into butter-laced slumber.

  Kylie padded out to the front porch to find her boyfriend illuminated by the glow of his phone. Stars shone overhead in a scatter of nuclear pinpricks. Crickets chirped over the wind through the trees. Deep in the woods, something skittered, unseen.

  Snuggling up next to him, she curled her tail around the fluffy canine. She glanced up at the ladder still propped against the side of the house. “Joe could’ve at least finished our roof.”

  “Sometimes, you’ve got a place you need to get back to.” Max slipped an arm around her waist and wagged under her tail. He flipped through images, then turned his phone to her. On screen, Karl grinned while being attacked by half a dozen crabs.

  She winced at the one hanging from his left nostril. “Ouch.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s got thick skin.” He scrolled to the photo’s description. “Sounds like he enjoyed himself.”

  “Good, I wouldn’t want word getting around that the local celebrities sacrificed him to the crabs.”

  Behind them, the door creaked. Laura emerged, tired but pleased with herself. She tossed a moldy petri dish into the sacks of garbage they’d brought up from the beach. “The last of our guests are settled in and the spare crabs are packed in ice. I’d call this Krabbenwanderung a success.” She leaned against the porch railing, her eyes on the couple seated on the stairs. “You kids enjoy yourselves?”