The animal landed on the couch. I imagined I could hear its little heart racing. Vi threw the sheet at him, and he was off again on his loop around the room. On the second round he flew through the window and landed with a splat on the front porch. I ran to close the windows, and Seth darted outside to assess the escapee.
I turned to check on Mom. She took deep breaths and put the bowl down with shaky hands only after Vi and I assured her the bat had left the building.
“Maybe we need professional help,” said Vi.
I had a few ideas about the kinds of professionals we would need, but I was pretty sure she meant animal control.
“Okay, well, Seth and I have dogs to walk—see you later.” I bolted out the front door and down the steps. I caught a glimpse of the bat as it flew into the trees. “You coming?” I called.
Seth gave a thumbs-up, climbed into my Jeep, and clicked his seat belt.
“I wish we could start a morning without a major ruckus.” I sighed and turned the key in the ignition.
“Ruckus.” Seth snorted. “You sound like Nana Rose.”
“Take that back or you will never see your fourteenth birthday.”
“Now you sound like Auntie Vi.” He grinned and shoved his earbuds into his ears.
Before putting the Jeep in gear, I closed my eyes and counted to five very slowly. My mother had suggested Seth as my assistant because we were “at the same maturity level.” But, seriously, who doesn’t act like she’s thirteen when forced to move back in with her parents at thirty?
Seth has been coming to Crystal Haven for the summer ever since it was legal to put him on an airplane alone. My perfect sister, Grace, hasn’t stepped foot in our quirky hometown since the day she left, and I don’t blame her. Much. She’s made a good life for herself using her talents as a stockbroker.
In Seth’s other life he’s a city kid and goes to an expensive private school in New York City, wears a uniform, and plays tennis. He has always loved coming here for the summer and spending time on the beach and in the woods. Since I had just moved back—temporarily—we’d been spending a lot of time together.
“All right, our day just got more complicated,” I said.
With exaggerated patience, Seth removed his earbuds.
“How complicated can your day be? You walk dogs and pick up crap. It’s not like you’re saving the world—anymore.”
Seth was unhappy about my recent career switch from police officer to dog walker. I ignored him and continued. “We have to go get Baxter after we see our usual lineup.” I waved my phone at him. “Tish texted, and she’s going out of town again. He’s coming to stay with us.”
“Great, I love Baxter.”
“Good, you’re in charge of him.”
*
Mondays are the hardest days, since the dogs have to get used to the weekday routine after spending all weekend with their owners. Our first stop was Archie’s house. He is an Airedale with a pathologic fear of thunderstorms. Fortunately for us, the sky was a clear blue and he only needed a quick walk. Molly and Roxie were next. Molly is an Australian shepherd with anxiety, and her neighbor Roxie is a spoiled cocker spaniel with fear-biting issues. I had taken to walking them together, one being less anxious and the other less fearful. My favorite, MacDuff, followed. A Scottish terrier, he had become depressed when the daughter of the house had moved away to college. Vi said he had “empty nest syndrome” and she was working with him to find other “sources of fulfillment.” So far, he was fulfilling his need to dig up his owner’s yard.
After MacDuff, we drove to get Baxter. When we arrived at Tish’s house, Baxter, who would have a frequent-flyer card if I wanted to encourage his repeat business, was waiting for us by the front door. His dark muzzle, comprised mainly of heavy jowls, pulled the rest of his face down to give him a perpetually worried countenance. His droopy stare brightened when he saw Seth. Baxter is a bullmastiff, which was another way of saying he’s one hundred thirty pounds of drool. He adored Seth. He tolerated me because I usually accompanied Seth. Since he wasn’t the only dog to ride in it, he hated my SUV. But I couldn’t imagine anything better than a fifteen-year-old Jeep Wrangler for transporting dogs to their various destinations.
“Okay, on three,” I said.
I was in the backseat of my Jeep with both hands on Baxter’s collar. Seth had the other end, which was still firmly planted outside on the street. The dog was wearing his stubborn face, which consisted of jutting his jaw even farther forward, and I braced myself for a fight.
“One, two,” I said, and Baxter lurched forward, his jowls flopping in my face and drenching me in dog saliva.
“We were supposed to go on three!” I said. I grabbed a dirty towel from the floor and wiped my face.
“I didn’t push him. He did it himself,” Seth said, and looked away too late to hide his smile.
“Get in the car,” I said through clenched teeth.