Too late. The squirrel legged it into the bedroom and began tearing round in circles, squawking like a hellcat. Then it shot under the bed skirt.
Eudora had the sense to slam the bedroom door shut; Harry stood there gawping.
“We have to drive her back in here,” Felix said. “I’m not having a rabid mother squirrel loose in my bedroom.”
“Squirrels don’t carry rabies, son,” Eudora said with another smile.
“It was a figure of speech.” She might be next for the loo brush. Swear to God.
“Let’s chase it back in,” Harry said. “I’ll go get a broom!”
“No!” Felix and Eudora shouted.
“Child, that bedroom door needs to stay closed.” Eudora sucked in her lips and gave Felix a nod.
“This is a great way to spend my birthday!” Harry said.
“Your birthday? My, my. Is anyone baking you a cake?” Eudora said.
“He’s celebrated already with his friends,” Felix said.
“Nonsense. I’ll bake for you this afternoon. What’s your favorite flavor?”
“Carrot cake. I love carrot cake.” Harry grimaced and blinked, grimaced and blinked.
“How many candles?”
“Seventeen.”
Felix held up his rubber-gloved hands. “The squirrel, chaps?”
“On it, Dad.” Harry tossed the duvet onto the bed.
“Working on the assumption that this mother is determined to get back to her babies, here’s what we’re going to do—” Felix turned on all the lights in the bathroom and slowly opened the closet door. “Harry, shut off the lights in here. Eudora”—she shot him a look—“if you wouldn’t mind closing the curtains so we can darken the room? Let’s hope her instincts call her home.” Felix chose not to think about irony.
Harry started giggling again. Felix stood behind the bathroom door and held a finger to his lips. “Shhh. We need to be quiet and still.”
Eudora dropped to her knees and disappeared behind the bed. Was she deaf, senile, or unable to follow basic instructions?
A hand reached up and removed the red glass from his bedside table. A bump and a flurry of squawking came from under the bed, and the squirrel—which Felix noticed for the first time was covered in bald patches and seriously manky—shot from under the bed and tore into the bathroom. Felix slammed the door and dusted off his hands.
“My,” Eudora said, “all that excitement has left me tuckered out. At the risk of ethnic profiling, I’m assuming you’re a tea drinker, Felix? How about a cup of Earl Grey? With lots of sugar to calm the nerves.”
“You’re in luck, Eudora. That’s Dad’s favorite.”
She smiled as if she’d known all along. Had she gained access to their house, snooped in their cabinets, examined the contents of the tea caddy? Felix dragged Ella’s bedside table across the bathroom door.
“Dad, you do know squirrels can’t open doors?”
“I’m not taking any chances. Did you see her bald patches? She’s probably a mutant.”
Harry cupped his hand over his mouth and started shaking.
“Now what’s so funny?” Felix frowned.
“You’re, you’re”—Harry hiccuped with laugher—“still wearing rubber gloves.”
“Would you like me to go fetch Daddy’s hunting rifle, Felix?”
“You’re offering to shoot my son?”
Harry collapsed on the bed, hysterical.
“In case the squirrel escapes again. Daddy used to take me to the range on Sundays. I can hit a squirrel at fifty yards.”
Brilliant. They were living next door to a squirrel sniper.
FIFTEEN
Felix stood in the middle of the cul-de-sac, hand raised in a solitary wave as Critter Rescue drove off with the squirrels. A truck rumbled in the distance, and then silence settled. The air smelled faintly of skunk and warmth. Sixty-five degrees on a Sunday in January, and yet the neighborhood was as quiet as the morning-after set of a disaster movie. He could pretend he and Harry were the only people in this corner of the Bull City.