Page 27 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)
The morning picked up where it’d left off. Dad and Mom went to open the orchard for business. Joe put out the OPEN banners, but instead of looking after his usual chores, he returned to the house to check on Jarrah.
He sat on the floor next to the bed, arm propped on the mattress. Slipping a couple of fingers into Jarrah’s hand, he turned it over and brushed his thumb over freckled knuckles. The boy’s nose scrunched, and his hand tightened. He was waking up.
“Good morning,” Joe offered, hoping the crosser would remember his voice. And him.
Gray eyes blinked open and gazed calmly.
“Hi,” Joe offered. “Remember me?”
Those eyes slowly widened, taking on a sparkle. Then Jarrah was nuzzling and nosing Joe’s hand.
“What’re you doing?”
“Sniffening you.” He announced, “I gotta do this. It’s really, really important.”
“Okay. Go ahead.” Joe guessed it was a pretty big compliment that Jarrah wanted to memorize his scent. “Are you hungry?”
“There’s something you need to know about me, Mister Joe. It’s also really, really important.” With great urgency, Jarrah declared, “I’m always hungry. Always.”
Jarrah’s waking meal proved that little squirrels were big eaters, but it also proved that the boy was a precious member of the Stately House family.
Nonny and Gilen sat with him, and gossip flowed in a mix of French and a shared brand of British English and Japanese.
Joe couldn’t keep up, so he focused on reloading plates and refilling glasses.
While Gilen raced Jarrah back upstairs to get him a change of clothes, Nonny pulled out his phone. “Guess I better let Inti know that his break’s over.”
“Oh … umm. I can keep an eye on Jarrah. I wanted to show him around.”
“No offense, but he’s more than you can handle. Me and Gilen can barely keep up, and there’s two of us.”
“It’s not just me, though.” Joe guessed it would be easier to show him, so he went out onto the porch and leaned out the door. “Bush? I know you’re there.”
In three shakes of a squirrel’s tail, Bush was sitting on his haunches in front of Nonny, one forepaw lifted in casual salute.
Nonny hunkered down and addressed himself to the Kith. “How many of you are there?”
Bush’s fingers flashed.
“Okay, you’ve got him outnumbered. But can you outsmart a nine-year-old trickster?”
That earned him a rude gesture.
Nonny grinned. “Yeah, I deserved that. But as a responsible party, I had to ask.”
And then the boys thudded back downstairs, and Jarrah jerked to a halt at the sight of Bush, mouth open.
Joe asked, “Have you ever met any squirrel Kith before?”
“Never,” he whispered. Then much, much louder, “He’s … he’s better’n anything!”
“His name is Bush.”
Jarrah streaked forward, stopped fast, and carefully fit his arms around the Kith, nuzzling red fur in an ecstasy of sniffening. Bush wrapped his tail around the kid, petted his hair, and chirred encouragement.
Gilen murmured something in awed French.
Nonny blinked fast, his eyes suspiciously bright, then swore and fumbled for his camera.