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"Scratched, it's my own fault, I know."
A cat scratch is bad enough, but a bobcat is twice the size of your average tabby. When he takes a swipe, there's blood involved.
Fitz was on his best behavior with Daniel, though. He usually is. He can sense Daniel likes animals. That's how we met. A week after we moved in, Daniel brought us an injured squirrel. The old warden had taken in wounded animals, and Daniel had figured that was part of the job. As for what a five-year-old was doing riding his bike deep into a predator-laced forest, well, that says something about the level of parental care in the Bianchi household.
When he'd brought the squirrel, I'd asked my dad if we could look after it. After some talks about conservation and how the goal was to release the animals--not make them into pets--my parents agreed. That was how I discovered my passion for rehabilitating wildlife. It was also how I made my first friend in Salmon Creek.
As Daniel played with Fitz, I sat on the grass, stretching out my legs and closing my eyes. I swore I could feel energy filling me. I inhaled the smells of the forest, the sharp tang of long grass, the sweet perfume of
the trees. As I relaxed, I realized how tense I'd been since leaving the tattoo studio. I could say I was just disappointed, but what the old woman said bugged me, as much as I tried to shrug it off.
As I rested, Kenjii circled the house. She gave Fitz a respectful berth--having been on the receiving end of his killer claws many times--and lay down beside me, head on my knee.
I petted her awhile and then asked Daniel what had happened this time. He shrugged and said, "The usual," which meant his dad got drunk and started in on him. Not physically. I think Daniel would have preferred that. Violence was something he understood, something he could deal with. This wasn't.
Daniel's mom had taken off three years earlier. She'd never really been there much anyway--always vague, distracted, caught up in her studies at the lab, no time for Daniel and his two older brothers. The one who really missed her was her husband. That's when the drinking went from "a case of beer on the weekend" to "dead drunk by ten most nights." It was just Daniel and his dad now--his brothers were in college.
Sometimes when Mr. Bianchi drank, he ignored Daniel, which was fine. But sometimes he didn't. He said stuff. Not the usual "you're lazy/stupid/worthless" insults either. These were ... ugly. He'd say that Daniel wasn't his son. That Daniel was a mistake. That he was a freak, an abomination, evil.
Once, after Serena died, I was over there, and his dad started in on me, calling me a freak, too, and saying that I killed Serena to get Daniel. Daniel coldcocked him. Then he took off to my place and stayed for two weeks. He went back, though. He always does.
His dad had apologized. He always did that--told Daniel he'd been drunk and he didn't mean it and Daniel should never tell anyone what he'd said. Which showed how little he knew his son. Whatever happened in that house stayed in that house, and I kept my mouth shut, too, even if sometimes I thought I shouldn't.
"He's been worse lately," Daniel said after a while.
I looked over. He was toying with Fitz now, dragging a long piece of grass over the porch as the bobcat chased it. Daniel was looking the other way, and all I could see was a sliver of his face. I didn't need to see his expression, though. Just hearing his tone, seeing the set of his broad shoulders, the way his bare arms tensed, muscles bunching, I knew what his face would look like: lips tight, dark eyes distant and sad. That's the part he didn't like me seeing--the sadness, the shame.
I moved to sit on the edge of the deck. Kenjii slunk over. Fitz gave both of us a watch your step--he's playing with me look. Daniel kept trailing the grass over the deck, leaving seeds behind.
I wanted to reach out to him. Put my arm around him. Rub his back. Do something that said, I'm here. But I never did. Couldn't.
After Serena died, there'd been long days and evenings, just the two of us, grieving, and sometimes he'd hug me, and that was fine because I knew it was just comfort. But I didn't feel like I could do the same back without a really good excuse or he might take it the wrong way.
It's not just because of Serena. Obviously, I don't want to be the slut making a move on her dead pal's boyfriend. But more than that, I don't want to do anything that might make him uncomfortable staying here when he needs a place. I'm pretty sure I could give him a hug without him misinterpreting it, but I can't take that chance.
So I sat, and said nothing. After a minute he slid over beside me. Fitz grumbled, then stalked off, with a halfhearted swipe at Kenjii, as if this were her fault. We watched as he disappeared into the forest.
"Hunting time," I said, because I couldn't think of anything else.
"He does a good job of it," Daniel said.
"As long as he can catch his dinner off guard." Missing a back leg meant Fitz could walk fine--he just couldn't run, either after prey or away from predators.
"And as long as he doesn't climb a tree to get it."
I gave a soft laugh and pulled my knees up. After another moment of silence, I said, "You said your dad's getting worse?"
"Yeah. I'll be glad when he goes on that business trip tomorrow. Bet you will, too. Birthday party time."
He jostled my shoulder and I forced a smile. After a minute he cleared his throat and said, "He had a teleconference with the St. Clouds last week. I think he told them he wants to leave Salmon Creek."
I looked over sharply. "What?"
"Lately, when he's drunk, he goes on about how he wants out, how he's trapped. Trapped in Salmon Creek because of me and because of his contract with the company. Once he sobers up, he never wants to talk about it. Then he had this meeting."
"How'd it go?"
"Bad. I think he tried to get out of his contract. They told him no. He should have known that. Everyone's contract is tight for security reasons. You remember how the whole town council had to lobby the St. Clouds to let Serena's folks go after ... well, after."
