Pears and Perils (25 page)

Clint pulled the apple pie from the freezer - the fridge wouldn’t have kept it fresh for the length of time he was away - and popped it into the microwave. He set down the laser pointer as he watched the small calorie-laden treat spin in radiation circles, forgetting to turn it off and leaving the red dot resting three feet off the ground on the far wall. A few seconds later there was a small crunching noise that was overshadowed by the microwave’s ding of completion. Clint slid the steaming pastry onto a paper plate, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out two pears from the dozen he’d purchased after getting in last night. Balancing the three items as he opened the door wasn’t the easiest task, but he managed it without any serious issues.

Glancing back, he noticed the cat chewing on something. It was hard to make out among the rapid movements of its teeth, but he could swear he caught a flash of red light every now and then. It wouldn’t be until later that he discovered the laser pointer was unable to create a dot any longer, regardless of how many times he changed the batteries.

“Your majesty,” Clint said, calling to his companion. Sprinkles rose from his devouring, gave a final gulp, and trotted into the hallway. It had not been an easy decision, leaving his island to follow this young man back to his home. It had weighed greatly on the conscience of Sprinkles before his choice was made. Ultimately, the return of Kodiwandae had been the tipping point in deciding whether to immediately return or not. The god needed time to settle in, re-acclimate. He and Sprinkles could come to terms on whose authority superseded whose once there had been adequate time for rejoicing and rest. Until then, Sprinkles was going to stick near the thing he found curious. Though a godling and a king, Sprinkles was, after all, also a cat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Adams.” Clint set the apple pie, now cooled off from liquid lava to merely scalding, on the breakfast tray in front of her. He also deposited one of his pears. The other he slipped into his jacket pocket. Mrs. Adams looked up at him with vacant eyes; not even the faint glimmer he’d imagined a week ago remained.

He hunkered down into a squatting position. There were plenty of available seats; however, he didn’t intend to stay for long.

“I know you’re having trouble remembering who I am, and that’s okay for right now. You’ve had a long, very bad dream for the last six months. I’ve got good news for you, though. It’s morning. Mr. Timmons is making coffee, Rose is bringing you eggs, and I’ve saved an apple pie from Camelot Burger for you. Morning is here, Mrs. Adams. It is time to
wake up
.”

The old woman’s eyes widened at his last two words, rousing from their half-closed state to one that seemed to resemble alertness. Clint smiled at her and pulled himself to his feet. “You have a great day, Mrs. Adams. We’ll talk when I get back tonight.” He headed off toward the exit, the cat walking a few paces behind him.

Such a nice young man. Mrs. Adams realized she hadn’t thanked him for the apple pie. Her wrinkled finger ran along its surface, judging the internal heat. Too hot to eat without getting burned, but close to perfect. To kill time, she took a bite of the pear Clint had also left with her. She didn’t recall being a fan of them before, but this one was downright scrumptious. Her head cleared with each bite, and by the end, she realized some jackass had left the Spanish soap opera channel on. Why in the hell hadn’t she changed that? Grabbing the remote, she turned on a replaying of last night’s monster truck rally. Much more like it. Now where was Rose with breakfast? For that matter, why was she sitting here instead of slipping tobacco into the doctor’s coffee? So much to do and so little time. Why on earth had she just been sitting around? Mrs. Adams couldn’t quite recall, but in the end it didn’t matter. She wasn’t one to dwell on what had been; her passion lay in plunging forward.

Clint made it outside just as it was beginning to drizzle. There was an umbrella stand by the front of the foyer where a communal collection had formed as people brought in new ones and owners of old ones left Golden Acres. He selected a long grey one with a flat cane handle. Sprinkles pulled closer to him as they stepped outside. The cat disliked any moisture greater than a single tongue could administer. Being nearer to Clint filled Sprinkles’ nose with the scents and the sense of the young man; a mortal who was not a god, yet had been seared too greatly by divine energies to be called a human. No half-breed, relying on ambient faith like those of Sprinkles’ ilk. Clint was something unseen before in this world. A mortal whose divine power came solely from his own Wants. Such a thing was dangerous, and strange, and curious. Sprinkles and Mrs. Adams had much in common, the first on the list being that they were both greatly looking forward to what lay ahead of them.

“Stay close, I don’t think you want to fall into a puddle,” Clint cautioned. His hand reflexively dug into his pocket and brushed against the pear inside. It had a good weight, one that reminded him of all the memories he now carried with him, as well as the responsibilities. The hand emerged with a cough drop, which Clint promptly popped in his mouth. Using The Voice still left him with a sore throat, though it was a small price to pay.

“Let’s get going. There’s a lot of work to do.”

About the Author

Drew Hayes is an aspiring author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books (so far)
. He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of like a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.

Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail. He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at
[email protected]
Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.

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About the Author