Page 44 of Into the Mountains (Blue Grove Mountain #3)
“Please tell me you didn’t try to use pliers?” I groan thinking about the story Sarah told me about her dad always suggesting getting his pliers to pull out a stubborn tooth and then actually doing it once with Hudson.
Hand up in defense, George says, “I did not use pliers.” My shoulders sag in relief. “Not for lack of trying though.”
“He did try, but I’ve heard Uncle Hud’s story and it sounds like a nightmare, so I opted for something else.” There’s a glimmer in his eye that tells me this idea wasn’t the safest.
“Alright, tell me.” A cramp simmers through one of my legs in my crouched position, so I decide to sit and cross them at the ankles, the grass poking through my pants for a brief second before it settles beneath me.
Ethan mirrors my posture and Erebor climbs down from his shoulder to curl into his lap.
The kitten closes his eyes and starts purring contentedly, pushing his head into Ethan’s hand.
“Well, first…” And he goes on to explain their elaborate plan of using some of George’s fishing line with his tooth tied to one end and a toaster tied to the other. How they managed to do that, I’m not sure I want to know.
“And then I walked up the stairs until I was halfway and tossed the toaster over the railing and it popped right out.” He startles Erebor with his loud voice and animated arms and he slinks away from his lap to crawl into mine.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say, looking over at George to confirm.
“You actually tied a toaster to the other end of my kid and let him throw it over the stairs?” His face starts to redden, but he must have reeled in his embarrassment from the other end of his own fishing line and he lets a slight grin invade his features.
“Just making memories with my grandson.” And the conversation ended there. The unconventional ways of the generation before me is not a battle I care to fight in at the moment.
My knees make a crackling sound like a freshly poured bowl of Rice Krispies as I stand and turn to Isabelle this time, glancing down at the kitten now asleep in her arms. “And who might this be?”
“Oh, right. That’s Hobbles.” Ethan comes up behind me and reaches for the pure white kitten.
It stirs and blinks its eyes a few times before looking up at me.
One green and one blue, its eyes are observant, curious even as it examines me and wonders who I am to the people that have been looking after it.
“Aren’t they called hobbits?” I may not know everything about The Hobbit, but I know enough to know the actual title of the movie and what they’re called.
“They are, but his name,” he says, taking the kitten gently from his grandmother, “is Hobbles.”
When he holds the kitten up to me, I can’t help but laugh at the name.
Where there would usually be a fourth leg, there’s a small stump at his shoulder, his full leg completely gone, which would obviously cause him to hobble a bit when he walks.
A small, squeaking meow escapes from him as I grab him from Ethan and cradle him in my arms.
“And just where did you find him?”
“Well, he kind of heard the other two outside meowing and playing and he just walked right up to them and joined in. They all got along really well and I felt guilty leaving him all alone if he’s a stray, so Grandma and Grandpa said he could stay with us until you got home and then we could figure out what to do, but I really want him to stay with his friends, but I know I already pushed it with Erebor and three cats is a lot and I know you don’t love cats, but I can handle it and—”
“Ethan, breathe, kiddo.” If I didn’t interrupt his rambling, I have a feeling he could have gone on even longer in one breath. All I can do now is admire the heart and empathy he has for the smallest of creatures and put my old dislike aside. Which was really pushed away the second we met Sable.
“There’s nothing I’d rather do than give little Hobbles here a home with his friends, okay? You don’t even have to ask.”
“Really?” His eyes light up and I can visibly see the worry drain from his muscles as he relaxes next to me.
“Of course. But we do need to take him to Uncle Jacob to make sure he’s healthy and gets whatever shots and medicine he might need, okay?”
“Okay,” he says loudly and turns to collect the other two kittens. Running off to an open spot in the yard a few feet away, he sets them down and starts to play with them, batting at their paws and commentating as they wrestle with one another.
I turn to George and Isabelle who are both watching their grandson with smiles brighter than the sun. “Thank you for taking care of him this weekend.”
“You know he’s welcome any time,” George says.
“For any purpose,” adds Isabelle and the look she gives me, eyebrows raised, head slightly cocked, makes me wonder if she has some intel from the camping trip already.
Would anyone have actually told them about Charlotte and me?
How would they feel knowing I have feelings for someone who isn’t their daughter? Would they be angry?
I swallow and am more conscious than ever about my Adam’s apple sinking down and settling into my skin, a lump forming I wish nothing more than to ignore. Push it down and suppress it like I have everything else over the last few years.
“I appreciate it. See you later for dinner?” Since we had the camping trip, Sunday brunch turned into Sunday dinner this weekend. George and Isabelle would rather jump into the lake nude than miss a Sunday meal with their family. And now I’m going to have to scrub that image from my brain.
“Dinner,” they confirm, and Isabelle has a smile on her face that I’m not so sure I want to know the meaning behind.