For the next hour, I transfer all the budgies to various cages I have for emergency rescues. Then, I take their filthy, crap-covered cage and throw it in the big trash can outside.
They’re all cowering in their cages in the middle of the backyard, watching me with pinned eyes. I wish they knew I wasn’t here to hurt them.
“Come on,” I say, voice hoarse. “Let’s get you in the aviary. There’s a spot I can quarantine you all and you can spread your wings a bit.”
I’m dripping in sweat by the time I partition off the aviary. Frodo, the nosy little booger, fights me when I put him on his side. It only adds to my terrible day.
One by one, I release the new budgies into the quarantine section. They’ve been living in squalor, so I want to make sure they don’t have any illnesses or mites before introducing them to the crew on the other side of the wall. Their mood improve slightly once they realize they can fly. The space I’ve given them is not small by any means. After what they’ve been living in, this has to feel like a resort.
I’m exhausted by the time I finish and collapse on the floor, watching the budgies explore their new space. They have food and water. Plenty of toys and millet. After some time, they will be fine.
But what about me?
I’m spiraling.
It takes everything in me to be able to peel myself up off the floor and head inside for a shower. As I pass by Nora’s room, I’m hit in the gut with realization.
All this will be gone soon.
The house next door is livable, but now that she’s engaged, she will probably just pack up and leave.
Where does that leave Clo?
Pain lances through me.
She can’t do that to me.
She wouldn’t, right?
I’m starting to realize I don’t know anything about Nora.
“Your mom told me to come get you,” a deep voice booms as it enters my house. “Where are you, bud?”
I roll over in bed. Seconds later, Monroe fills the doorway wearing a navy-blue T-shirt with “sheriff” in golden yellow across the front.
“Ugh,” I say with a groan. “My mom meddles. I’m fine. Don’t you have drunks to arrest? It’s your big time of the year.”
Monroe grunts. “I’m allowed a break. Come on. We’ll grab something to eat at my place.”
As if I’m a zombie, I stagger out of bed, jerk on some shoes, and follow my best friend out of my house. The elderly neighbor, Vera, on my other side watches from the window as Monroe opens the police cruiser passenger-side door for me. I’m sure Vera will tell the whole town I’ve been arrested or some equally dramatic story. I don’t even have the energy in me to care.
Country music from the 90s blasts from the speakers when Monroe turns over the engine. I’m grateful he knows what I like and what’ll cheer me up. It’s hard to not sing along to Toby Keith or Tim McGraw. By the time we reach his house in Featherfall Estates, I’m feeling marginally better.
Both Monroe’s kids, Tate and Trudy, must be at BudgieFest because they’re not here. At least I won’t have them hovering and worrying.
“Sit,” Monroe instructs, pointing at the barstool in his kitchen. “I’ll make us some back porch dogs.”
My stomach grumbles because I love his cooking. I guess when you’re a single dad for as long as he’s been, you learn how to cook. He has a Blackstone out back, but he makes themquick on his flat griddle on his stove. Soon, the scent of cooking hotdogs and frying bacon fills the air. I offer to help, but he waves me off with a spatula.
I still can’t believe what happened with Denver and Nora.
Monroe slaps some butter on the hot dog buns and then also cooks them on the griddle. Then, he assembles them with bacon and cheese. Once the cheese melts, he plates them up for us and dumps a bunch of chips on the side.
“Thanks,” I say as I pick up one of my hot dogs. “I needed to eat.”
We eat in amicable silence. It’s been a while since I had his back porch dogs and I remember now why I love them so much. They’re so good.
“Your mom said Nora got proposed to? Is that why your panties are in a wad?”
