Page 15 of The Grizzly Situation
And that was my cue to say good bye to Sandy, and pick the kids up and carry them, along with my bag, through the airport. She told me where she’d parked the car, so it was easy to find. We waved as she got into hers with Tom, then took off.
“What do you want to eat?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Fish and chips!” they both yelled.
Even though they hadn’t shifted yet, both boys had developed a bear’s tastebuds. They were wild about fish, berries,and other food that a bear loves. I had to make sure they didn’t try to eat grass or the neighbor’s cat after it got hit by a car. Not saying they would, but shifters can be pretty unpredictable when they were young. Sense of smell leads kids, sometimes poorly. I was the voice of experience on that front.
After getting them both strapped into their car seats, I drove us to their favorite fish restaurant in Bear Mountain, the aptly named Fish Tales. They loved the food, but also the fact that the servers told some pretty outlandish tall stories that kept the kids enthralled. After their meal, they were given the opportunity to cast a kid sized fishing pole into an aquarium of sorts, and hopefully hook a prize. Neither of them got one this time, but in the past they’d gotten stuffed animals, puzzle books, and other things.
After we finished dinner, we went to the school. Their teacher, Ms. Lopez, met us at the doors, seemingly a bit frantic.
“You should have been here half an hour ago!” she barked. I lifted my brows, and she shrank back. “I’m sorry, sir. I?—“
I held up a hand. “It’s my fault,” I admitted. That whole caffeine-sugar thing was gone now, and I was crashing hard. “I got back in from Milwaukee an hour ago, and I’m running on fumes. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“It’s no problem, really.”
Part of the issue with being the leader of the sleuth is very few people wanted to contradict me. Because bears were more aggressive, we took umbrage at things most would let roll off their backs.
“Callie, really. This is on me. Now, let’s see these boys in their costumes.”
She nodded, but I could see she was still wary. I didn’t mind it with people I did business with. They needed to remember I made the rules. Outside the boardroom, though, I tried to bemore low-key. Unfortunately, aggression was part of who I was, and most people reacted to that.
I went with her and did my best to help get the boys ready. After they were both dressed as wolves—sigh—I helped with the other children, who stood in rapt attention as I assisted their teacher. The one nice thing about being in charge was the kids were usually pretty polite around me. No one wanted to annoy me, not that I would ever raise my hand to a child.
When Callie called for the kids to line up, they did so. There was a little pushing and shoving, playfully of course, but eventually they were all ready. I went out and took a seat in the audience, nodding at the people nearby. As soon as the lights dimmed, I did my best to focus on the stage, but my eyes drifted shut.
“Chaim threatened my son! He said he’d rip his arms off if he ever went near Brent again.”
From my vantage point, I could see as my father lifted his brows and called for me. I trudged into the room, unhappy with the entire situation.
“Yes, Father?”
“Tell me, why would Chaim Flynn invoke your name while threatening someone?”
I didn’t want to say anything, because Chaim was my best friend, and I didn’t want him in trouble. But my dad turned that steely gaze on me.
“Don’t make me ask again, Brent.”
“I… he… Dad?”
His face grew redder. “What happened. You have to tell me,” he demanded.
Finally, in a burst of anger, I spit it out. “Peter said I should kill myself! He said I was weak, and didn’t deserve to live.”
My father’s eyes widened. “He saidwhat?”
“Chaim was protecting me, Dad. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
The tension in the air was thick and cloying. Dad turned to Peter’s father, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your son told Brent he should kill himself? Were you aware of this?”
“What? No, of course not. He’s lying. Peter would never?—“
“Are you calling my son a liar?” my father growled, the sound rippling through me.
“But Peter wouldn’t?—“
“He did!” I screamed. “He beat me up and kicked me in the ribs. Ask the nurse.”
