“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Xavier assures me. “But I could use a hand with the feeding this morning. I promise you won’t have to touch any of the animals.”
“Oh. OK. Can you tell me a little about the shelter?”
“We have about twenty cats and dogs as well as an area dedicated to wildlife rescue. We also have a special permit that allows us to care for raptors and restricted mammals and marsupials until they’re able to be rereleased into the wild or adopted into proper sanctuaries.”
“That sounds like quite an operation.”
“We rely a lot on people like your grandmother to help out.”
“I…I guess I could volunteer if you’re short on assistants.” I’m not at all confident I’ll be of any use, but I can’t not offer.
“That’d be great. And if you’re going to stick around for a while, I need help with other jobs like manning the hotline or driving the animal transport van. And of course, there’s always paperwork. Oh, and we have to organize an annual fundraiser, which we’re hosting just before Christmas.”
I suddenly remember I have an actual paid job with an inflexible deadline of December 21 I need to meet. Not that what I do is anywhere near as exotic as working with Australian wildlife, but it pays the bills and allows me to use my German skills. Plus, the company who employs me also employs my parents, with my dad as a senior system engineer and my mom in payroll. Fortunately, my job was one I could bring with me to Australia, and because my boss has a soft spot for our family, he agreed to let me work remotely for a few weeks.
“Well, I suppose I can give it a shot. After I’ve checked in with work, if that’s all right?”
“That’s the Walker spirit,” my grandmother says. “We’ll try anything once. Sometimes twice.”
It’s sweet that Grandma thinks I take after her side of the family, but to be honest, I always thought I had more in common with the Steins. We tend to be a cautious and traditional bunch. But that could be because I’ve never spent much time with my Australian-based Walker relatives. I guess I’ll find out soon enough whether I was wrong.
After we finish eating, Xavier starts clearing the dishes. Grandma shoos us away. “I might be down to only one good arm, but I’m more than capable of loading a few plates into the dishwasher.”
“I’ll be in my room if you need me, Grandma. And Xave, I’ll see you once I’ve sorted out my work project.”
Xave says, “That will be great. Come over when you’re ready.”
I follow him outside, but we go our separate ways when we reach my car. I retrieve my laptop and luggage, figuring I’ll spend an hour or so planning out a routine for translating the manual. Perhaps I can even translate the first couple of pages.
But as soon as I get inside and unzip my suitcase, I see the notebook I have dedicated to making notes about my grandmother. Not for the first time, I feel a little weird about the task I’ve been recruited for. But if it means that I’m contributing to a plan that will keep her safe in the long-term, I will do it. And maybe we’ll find that she’s more than capable of looking after herself than Aunt Sharon believes.
For a job this important, I decide I need a highly sophisticated system of analyzing Sheila’s behavior. I swear it’s not just because I love organizing things with spreadsheets and lists. I devise a template system with daily charts that consists of several questions whose answers require either a numerical rating or a detailed written report. For instance, “On a scale of one to five, how batty is it for an elderly person to attend a rave days after surgery?”
I don’t think it’s fair to note only the negative observations, so I also make notes about how positive, engaged, and youthful my grandmother appears. I feel that by taking this approach, I will ascertain a fuller picture sooner, hopefully one that will allow me to be home before the end of the year.
It’s almost ten-thirty. I got so caught up in creating my strategy for ‘Operation Observe Sheila,’ I have forgotten about my promise to help at the shelter. If I’m going to be of any use to Xave this morning, I need to head out now. My job as a translator can wait until later.
I sniff under my arms. Hmm. I’m a tad ripe. Do I have time to shower and change? Maybe I shouldn’t bother if I’m about to interact with a bunch of animals.
Passing through the front door, I pause. I didn’t get a chance to see everything properly yesterday evening, but it is absolutely beautiful here. I’m standing on an expanse of lush green grass almost the size of a football field, surrounded by the forest filled with palm trees, vines, and skyscraper-like gum trees.
The sky is clear and blue, and even though it’s still early, it already feels like ninety degrees. I hike toward Xave’s house, spotting him near the boundary of my grandmother’s property. He’s connecting a hose to a tap mounted on a small post. “Hey, there. Sorry I took longer than I had promised.”
He raises his head. “Not at all. Your timing is perfect. You can fill the dogs’ water bowls while I get their food ready. You can even stay outside the enclosure.”
He turns the water on, and I take the hose from him.
“It’s so pretty here.” Xave’s property is almost as picturesque as my grandmother’s, albeit with a distinctly animal scent.
“Wait until you see our beaches,” he says. “I’ll show you later.”
I’m not sure how I feel about Xavier’s total lack of formality. He’s acting like we’ve already known each other for years. Not that I’m complaining. He could give Chris Hemsworth a run for his money in the looks department. It’s just a little off-putting, and I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea. I have Brett at home.
I instantly feel guilty that my boyfriend has barely crossed my mind since I touched down in Brisbane. The whole flight here, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he came to see me at the airport. His gesture was so sweet that instead of being mad at him, I began to see how his living situation could actually be a rational stepping stone toward our future together.
But now? I’m paying attention to the wrong man and on my way to do something I never would have done back home. Does Xavier have some weird influence over me, or am I so out of my element in Noosa that nothing will make sense until I’ve adjusted to being here?
CHAPTER 7
I follow Xavier with tentative steps toward the shed at the back of his yard. Remembering the collection of driveways I passed on my drive in yesterday, I ask, “How many people live in this subdivision?”
“Five. You’ll definitely meet the people on the other side of me at some point.” He doesn’t elaborate, but I suspect the reason is less than pleasant. “There’s an energy healer beside them, and a family who spends half their year in Europe next to him. Most of us get along pretty well.”
“Do you live here alone?”
“Yep. Although, it’s not unusual for friends and volunteers to crash here. Especially if they stay for a drink on a Sunday afternoon. An Uber back to town isn’t cheap.”
We reach the shed, which reverberates with the cacophony of yapping dogs. I twitch when I face my worst nightmare: multiple dogs massed together.
The enclosure has waist-high walls around its base and is open to the elements to the ceiling. A tin roof protects the inhabitants below from the full force of the weather. Xavier opens a gate and heads in. The yapping instantly turns into excited barking. I nervously approach and peer over the edge of the wall.
Just as I thought. Definitely nightmare material. This is no litter of cute poodles or Pomeranians. I’m face-to-face with stocky bull terriers and Rottweilers. And while they’re wagging their tails and trying to lick Xavier now, I can easily imagine them turning feral and attacking me while I sleep. I suppose I should count myself lucky that Gus at least doesn’t resemble a guard animal.
I adjust the nozzle on the hose and stick it over the fence. I aim for the water bowls, quickly filling them. Xavier is completely at home with these creatures, intermittently rubbing their bellie
s and talking to them as if they’re his children.
I watch him in utter fascination. For a second, I can almost imagine changing my opinion about dogs. I mean, there’s no way in hell I’m going inside the gate, but I’m totally fine doing whatever I can from out here.
He notices my reluctance to get involved. “If the dogs bother you, perhaps you’d prefer to feed the cats,” he says.
While I’m not exactly a cat person either, the species is definitely a lot less threatening to me. “Uh, OK. Sure, I’ll help with the cats. Where are they?”
He points to an area beside the shed. It’s completely surrounded with wire fencing, including overhead. A structure resembling a kid’s wooden playhouse stands in the center.
“I’m off to the cat house. See you later.”
I cross the yard, silencing a new swarm of butterflies in my gut by reminding myself I was not being sent to the lions. When I reach the gate, a woman appears.
She greets me with a smile. “Hi. Are you here to help with the animal grooming?”
Grooming? “Not even close. I’m Hannah, Sheila Walker’s granddaughter. You know Sheila, right?”
The woman unlatches the gate. “Everyone knows Sheila. She’s a legend. I’m Taara, Xave’s—” She hesitates. “The sucker who shows up to help him whenever he calls. Which is most days.”
Rumpled stink bomb I am, I slink past her to enter the enclosure lest Taara have second thoughts about inviting me in. She exudes the same extroverted sense of ease as Xave. Her white polo shirt and olive-green cargo shorts are uniform-like and, combined with her spunky athleticism and broad Australian accent, her appearance makes her a shoo-in to be the next Steve Irwin. I peek around in case there is a crew filming her. Or crocodiles.
Would her wide smile disappear if she knew Xave had been in my bedroom while I wore little more than a sheet?
I say, “Xave sent me to feed the cats. Do you need my help?”
“Sure! Come on in.”
Two stacks of three crates line two of the walls. Taara moves to the counter next to a work sink to transfer hunks of meat from a bag into metal bowls. “Cooking for the kitties is my weekend ritual. They deserve a break from the dry food we normally feed them.”
She unlocks the crates on the lower tier. Cats twist and rub against our legs. Five tails zoom upright, each with a slight bend at the tip. The squirming mass of fur breaks down into a black cat with white paws, two yellow tabbies, a stunning all-gray cat, and a skinny calico who attaches herself to my right ankle.
“I feed this lot first. They’re the socialized bunch. Well, mostly. We’ll supervise them to ensure no one—and yes, Jezebel, by no one I mean you,” she says to the gray cat, “hogs all the food. After they lick the bowls clean, we’ll carry three of the top crates outside to feed our newest arrivals. We’ll leave Big Mama behind.”
Donning a potholder, she pulls a bowl from the top of a cluttered shelving unit next to the sink. “Big Mama arrived three days ago and promptly dropped a litter of kittens. She’s quick to bite the hand that feeds her. Hence the protective measures.”
Taara slides the pin to unlock the crate. In a single swift move, she opens it, shoves the bowl inside, and slams the door shut. She removes the mitt and wiggles her fingers. “None missing. I consider it to be a successful day.”
I rethink my position on cats.
Taara bends to pick up the black-and-white cat. She stands, gesturing to a crate with her elbow. “Grab this and meet me outside.”
I set the crate on a weedy patch of grass and peer into the glowing, green eyes of a floofy gray tabby cowering in the back. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. We have delicious meat to feed you.”
She says nothing in return.
After setting two crates on the grass, Taara runs through the enclosed yard, clapping her hands and shepherding the cats we’ve already fed into the wooden shed. Turns out, you can herd cats.
Returning to the yard, she opens a crate and waves a hunk of meat at the cat to lure it outside. A white cat tiptoes through the door, running away when it realizes the meat is attached to a human. Taara tosses the meat aside. The cat sniffs it suspiciously before chowing down.
She repeats the process with the other two scaredy cats. “We’ll let them enjoy their freedom for a couple of minutes.” She leans against the wire fencing. “How long are you visiting your grandma?”
I take a spot next to her. Nice as Taara seems, I don’t plan on sharing the true nature of my visit with anyone outside my family. “I don’t know, perhaps until the end of the year? Or for however long my grandmother needs me.”
Concern sweeps across her face. “Xave mentioned she had taken a fall in Indonesia. I wish I could have joined her on the trip, but I couldn’t take a month off work. Not even to rescue sea turtles. Was she hurt badly?”
“She tore her rotator cuff and needed surgery, but you can’t tell by the way she acts. She came home in the middle of the night, covered in glitter.”
Taara erupts with laughter. “Like I said, Sheila is a legend. But be careful: if she approaches you carrying one of her fertility charms, run!”
I recall the collection of statues decorating my room and clutch my belly. “I’m good for the moment. It does take two humans to make a baby, after all.”
“Which is why she won’t rest until she finds you a partner. Just ask Xave.” She flips her long, black braid behind her shoulder, pulsing her eyebrows.
“Oh, I have a boyfriend.” I wrinkle my nose. “But it’s complicated. It was on-again, off again for a while. Now it’s definitely on, and we’re contemplating next steps in our relationship. But that conversation has to wait until my return to the States.”
“Given the absence of a wedding ring on your finger, Sheila will rustle up every available man in Queensland as a potential mate for you. An absent boyfriend won’t scare her away. She fancies herself a matchmaker. Every once in a while, she actually succeeds,” she says with a smile stretched across her cheeks.
I massage the bare skin at the base of my ring finger. My Brett story will require embellishments to withstand Grandma’s inquiries concerning my love life. I suspect she’s the sort who will make me more insecure about the state of my relationship.
The longhaired tabby settles herself into her crate. “Looks like someone has had enough of the big, wide world. Should I carry her inside?” I ask.
Taara nods. “I’ll corral my two and meet you in the cat house.”
She returns to the shed a couple of minutes after me. “You said you’d be here through Christmas?”
“Yeah. It’s weird for it to be summer at Christmastime.”
“It’s not weird if it’s what you know. Does it snow where you’re from?”
“Tons. White Christmases are not unusual. My town is beautiful in the snow. Especially at Christmas,” I sigh. “We have a lot of German-style buildings that are even more gorgeous when they’re decorated. The Christmas lights reflect and sparkle on the surface of the river that flows through downtown Frankenmuth. And we have the world’s largest all-year Christmas store. The little I’ve seen of Noosa is beautiful, but the holidays won’t be the same.”
“I promise you Christmas is festive here, too. Different, but you’ll love it. Drive through any of the housing estates where they go all out with their decorations. It should do the trick. And everyone has a tree. On Christmas Day, we visit family and eat way too much food. Usually prawns, oysters, cold meats, and salads. And for dessert, there’s often trifle or pavlova.”
“What about turkey? Or pumpkin pie?”
“I guess we eat turkey sometimes. But we’re more likely to have a cold-smoked ham on the table. And I’m afraid pumpkin pie is almost unheard of here. In Goa, the state in India where my parents are from, the Christians celebrate Christmas in a more Americanized style. I visited my grandparents once in December. It was lovely but hot. Don’t worry about spending the holidays with us, though. I’ve been to one of Sheila’s
fabulous Christmas lunches. It couldn’t be more festive.”
“I can’t wait to experience it.” I pat my back pocket, checking for my phone. Comparing the differences between celebrating Christmas here and at home tightens my chest. I want to run to my grandmother’s house to reconnect with my family and Jojo. I tap my fingertips into the palm of my other hand, counting backward to figure out what time it is in Michigan. Noon here is nine at night yesterday at home. Am I going to measure my entire trip by figuring what day and time it is in Michigan?
Taara reads my eyes. “It’s a bit much for you, us putting you to work the day after you arrived from America, isn’t it?”
I squat to give my calico pal another scratch. “I’m glad I could be of help. And I’ve enjoyed meeting you, but I suspect I’ll need another day or two before I find my bearings. Also, I am in desperate need of a shower.”
“Then don’t let me keep you.”
We cajole the five indoor cats into their crates with bonus nibbles of meat. I hold the shed’s door open for Taara. “Do you live nearby?”
“About twenty minutes away in Sunshine Beach. I grew up here and still live with my parents. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I’ll have to take you on a tour sometime.”
Like Xavier, she immediately welcomes me. Their friendliness will go a long way to helping me to acclimate to my stay in Australia. But it’s not enough to prevent me from missing home.
CHAPTER 8
After the world’s most refreshing shower, I retreat to the sanctuary of my temporary bedroom and dial Jojo’s number. She answers immediately.
“Hey! How’s Australia?”
“Beautiful but strange. Do you know it was already ninety degrees outside by the time I finished breakfast?”
A Christmas Rescue Page 4
