Free 03 - Three Odd Balls by Cindy Blackburn Page A

myself as I desperately tried to get the stupid thing underneath me.
    Have I mentioned upper body strength? While I struggled solo to catch a wave, Chris and Wilson made valiant efforts to move my mother, Louise, and their surfboards out to the breakwater point. Eventually we were all out far enough to really injure ourselves.
    We puttered about to no avail whatsoever as Chris demonstrated various positions and techniques. At least Wilson caught on to a few basic maneuvers. He had even managed the squatting position a few times when Louise screamed how tired she was getting. I turned and searched for my mother.
    Bless her heart, Tessie was trying her hardest, but clearly the woman was tuckered out. I motioned to Wilson, he got his son’s attention, and while the two of them worked to get her safely into shore, I helped Louise. The going got much easier once I mentioned a bucketful of Pele’s Melees. We practically raced each other toward dry sand.

Chapter 8
    I might have been exhausted from the late afternoon surfing lesson, but the Hawaiian shirt Wilson donned after our showers woke me right up.
    “We need to go back to Shynomore and get more of these,” he told my reflection as I stepped out of the bathtub. He pointed proudly to his chest, where a plethora of red, orange, and pink bicycles paraded about. “I can’t believe I only bought two last night.” He gave himself another admiring glance in the mirror. “What was I thinking?”
    “Perhaps you weren’t,” I suggested.
    I was slipping into my own evening attire, a sundress, which I do believe was the epitome of understatement, when my cell phone rang. A blast from real life, it was Karen Sembler, calling from North Carolina. Another of my neighbors, Karen had back-up duty in the cat care project.
    “Girlfriend!” she greeted me. “How’s Hawaii?”
    “Beautiful except for the dead guy.” I stretched out on top of the bed. “And if I have to endure another surfing lesson, I may end up joining him.”
    “Did you just say, dead guy?”
    “Don’t ask,” I said and calculated the time difference.“How are the cats, Karen? Where’s Candy? Is Snowflake okay?”
    Karen reported that Candy was working late. “Be thankful you’re not here, Jess. Tate’s is having their annual blow-out bra sale. Kiddo bought me this hideous red and green thing last night and threatened to bring home the matching panties tonight.”
    “And the cats?” I asked. “Is everyone okay?”
    “No one’s dead yet,” was Karen’s less than reassuring answer. Then she filled me in on the details—Snowflake and Bernice had been hissing at each other since we left. “The little black cat isn’t too worried,” she said, “but it’s starting to get to Kiddo and me. Any ideas what we should do?”
    “I thought Candy was going to keep Bernice and Wally down at her place if need be?”
    “She did that last night. But you and Wilson are gonna be together forever, right? So these cats have to get used to each other, right?”
    I scowled at my beau, who was now standing at the closet admiring his small but alarming collection of Hawaiian shirts.
    “Maybe,” I said quietly.
    “So what’s the son like, Jess? He ready for a new mom?”
    “He likes me about as much as Snowflake likes Bernice.”
    “Oh boy.”
    I got back to the topic at hand and mentioned how Snowflake and Bernice both enjoy snuggling and cuddling. “Maybe if one of you slept at my place, the cats would all end up on the bed together. Maybe even happily.”
    “I’ll run downstairs and get my jammies after we hang up.”
    Dear Karen. I thanked her for her efforts, apologized for the inconvenience, and told her where to find fresh sheets. “It could backfire,” I warned. “They could keep you up all night.”
    “We’ll be fine,” she insisted. “But Snowflake sure misses you.”
    I pictured my feline muse and smiled. “What’s she doing?”
    “When she’s not hissing at the fat cat, she sits on