Page 23 of The Strawberry Field
Jake appears in the doorway, clearly surprised. His expression shifts quickly to something neutral. I fumble for words.
“I’m sorry for dropping by like this,” I say, feeling incredibly awkward.
“Hattie,” he says, and the dog stops barking at once. Her tail still wags, and she ambles over, sniffing my knee. I rub beneath her chin, and she presses against me, all trust and softness.
It’s disarming.
So is he.
“Is everything okay?” Jake asks, closing the distance between us.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.“I tried finding a number for you, but… I didn’t know who else to call. I tried some wildlife services, but no one answered.”
He steps closer, brows furrowed.“What happened?”
I hesitate, then blurt it out.“There’s a snake. In my bathroom.”
Jake’s face shifts. For a moment, I think he might laugh. Then a smile breaks across his face, and despite myself, I smile too.
“You want help getting it out?”
“Would you? Please? I’ve managed to handle a lot of things in life, but snakes are not one of them.”
“No problem,” he says easily.“I’ll follow you over.”
“You don’t mind? I feel awful asking you.”
“I don’t mind at all. Come on, Hattie.” He whistles, and she trots after him to a dusty Ford truck with Farm Use plates.“We’ll see you there.”
*
I DRIVE BACK to the house, Jake’s truck following close behind. In my rearview mirror, I watch Hattie with her head out the window, ears flapping. Like a second passenger.
There’s something about Jake’s ease that undoes me a little. I’d forgotten this about him—his ability to lessen awkwardness, to dissolve embarrassment with kindness. There are people who pounce on vulnerability, who use it as leverage. Jake never did. He never made me feel small.
We arrive within minutes. I park. He pulls in beside me. Hattie jumps out, tail wagging.
Jake opens the tailgate and pulls out a long silver tool.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Snake tongs. One of humanity’s finest inventions.”
“Where’d you get those?”
“Hardware store. Had a mama rat snake in my potting shed once. Didn’t want to kill her, but I sure didn’t want her staying. And no, it won’t hurt the snake.”
“Good to know.”
“Mind if Hattie comes in?”
“Of course not.”
We enter the house, head upstairs. Hattie brushes against my hip, tail wagging like it’s just another Tuesday adventure. Her confidence somehow steadies me.
“I’ll put her in a bedroom while I deal with the guest,” Jake says.
He opens my bedroom door and gently shuts her inside. Her one-bark protest is short-lived.
