Page 72 of Eye Candy

CAROLINE

In the smallhours of the Canadian morning, with my arm thrown over Chase’s naked backside and my head resting in the dip of his back, my phone buzzed under my head.

I fumbled through the luxe pillows for the vibrating square, wincing when I saw my brother’s name on the screen.

Mike had been hounding me for the past few days, but I kept missing him since he usually called at three a.m. and didn’t understand either sleeping or time zones.

I pulled on a sweater and snuck into the bathroom. “It’s six a.m., assclown.”

“Hello, Bucket!”

“Dad!” Remembering sleeping Chase, I lowered my voice. “Why are you calling from Mike’s phone?”

“Dropped mine in the trough.”

“Again?” I perched on the edge of Chase’s large clawfoot tub, cuddling the phone to my face. “You have to stop putting your phone in your front shirt pocket. Use your jeans.”

“And give Mrs. Rudd another excuse to eyeball my goodies? I don’t think so.”

“Or in your ba?—”

“Back pocket? Not on your life, Bucket. Remember that time Noddy slipped when he had his phone in his back pocket? Sue said the shards in his bum looked just like the mosaic on our garden path. But enough about Noddy’s ass. How’re things with you?”

“Good, Dad. How are you?”

“Fine, Bucket, fine.” I could hear the espresso machine in Café Levitate in the background. Then, too casually, he asked, “Have you heard from Mike lately?”

“He’s called a few times, but I’ve missed him. I was going to call him back today.”

“Right, well, don’t panic?—”

Of course, panic immediately set in.

It’s the money. The rent. Oh no, the insurance! Gerard’s gone back on our deal because Chase found out and he’s somehow found a way to freeze the money, that little rodent?—

“Mike was going to update you about my knees,” Dad said. “He probably forwarded you the details. I just thought I’d call and tell you not to worry.”

I put Dad on speaker and tapped through to my email. Nine emails from Mike. I hadn’t opened them because the subject lines were just ‘FWD:’ and nothing else, so I assumed they were pictures of his chickens, like usual. Mike didn’t like using social media, so he emailed his ‘chick pics’ to me.

The payments to the bank were all fine. Gerard hadn’t flipped. But one of Mike’s emails had a heap of medical documents attached.

“Caroline?” Dad said. “Bucket, are you still there? Like I told Mike, this is not a big deal.”

The documents I was reading included the words,light duties. Walker. Cane.

And,twelve-week recovery.

“I’m here, Dad. I’m just reading Mike’s emails.”

“Ah, yes. His spelling shocks me into silence too. Did I tell you he emailed our butcher last week and forgot the G inAngus? Imagine what Charlie thought when he saw the subject line: ‘My Anus Beef.’”

“That’s great Dad.”

“Not for Charlie. He thought Mike was finally propositioning him. Hell of a disappointment for him when he realized Mike was talking about the grass fed. Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me. Noddy and Sue’s girl is nearly fourteen and she says she’ll be OK on the coffee machine.”

“Dad…” I said slowly.

“I’ll be fine, Bucket! I’m looking forward to being a bionic man.”

---