Running Wild (Wild 3)

“Tyler and I have worked out our issues, and he begged me to take him on, so I don’t think he’s going anywhere. And as far as the Hatchetts go, Harry’s going to learn quickly how good he had it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes crawling back.” I say that with more confidence than I feel. “But Dad, you guys can’t keep throwing money at Vicki.” If my parents have made any mistakes with us, it’s being generous to a fault. Other parents would not be so quick to try to solve their adult children’s financial problems for them. “I know you think you’re helping them, but you’re not. They need to figure this out on their own.”

“How’s she gonna do that with two babies in tow and a husband who’s always working? They’re struggling to pay their rent for that apartment as it is.”

“So, they move in here until Vicki finishes school and gets established. The room in the attic is big enough, and Mom will help take care of Molly.”

“We’ve offered. More than once. You know your mother loves having a house full of people, and Oliver wouldn’t mind. Knowing Eleanor, she’d be sending him off to work with packed lunches every day. It’s Vicki who doesn’t want to move back in.”

“It’s not about what she wants at this point. It’s about what she has to do, and as long as she knows you guys will cover them, she has options.” I love my little sister fiercely, but her lack of responsibility and feeble work ethic infuriate me to no end, as does her ability to take our parents’ money without showing a shred of guilt. “Maybe moving in with you will make her follow through with the hair design school thing.” That I know my parents paid for, just like they paid for her semester in college and her real estate license.

What can I say? They fronted a giant chunk of my veterinarian college fees. My parents have never wanted their daughters to miss an education because of financial strain. But in Vicki’s case, maybe they have been too open-handed.

He sighs. “We never have been good at the tough-love thing. I just can’t sit back and watch my kids, and my grandkids, fall on hard times when I can help them. But maybe you’re right. They could save their money rather than us handing them more. Vicki could finish school and start building a real career. Eventually, they might even buy a house.”

“That won’t ever happen if they don’t start making smart decisions. And stop having babies they can’t afford.” And selfishly, I will admit, if Vicki moves back here, this idea that Mom and Dad sell and move to Eagle River will vanish, at least in the short term. Liz doesn’t need help; Vicki genuinely does.

I’m going to have a frank conversation with my little sister about how this option makes the most sense for her family.

I check my watch and then the parking lot in the distance. Cory’s not back yet, and my afternoon appointments will start rolling in soon. “I should get going. Sarah Mickle’s coming in with Stitch.”

“Oh, that feisty little dachshund. I remember when he was just a pup.” Dad frowns. “He must be getting up there now?”

“Fifteen.” I give my dad a look. There’s nothing more I can do to ease Stitch’s aches and pains, other than make his last moments as comfortable as possible. This is the part of my job that I will never get used to. It’s going to be a long, draining afternoon.

Dad’s frown grows deeper. I always knew the days when he had to put pets down. His shoulders would be sagging when he walked through the door. “Give her my condolences.”

I climb from my seat at the picnic table as the dogs take off barking toward the house. My mother’s hollers carry on the breeze. She’s standing in the doorway, waving us over.

Dad scratches at his chin. “Wonder what that’s about?”

“Maybe the pie’s ready.”

His eyes sparkle. “We should get over there, then, before she calms down and doesn’t let me eat it.”

Dad hobbles on his crutches toward the UTV, settles in, and cranks the engine, and I hop into the passenger seat. We coast along the narrow dirt lane.

The closer we get, the clearer my mother’s shocked expression becomes. Her hands are busy wringing a tea towel.

“I don’t think this is about pie,” my dad mutters.

“I think you might have pushed her over the edge.” I call out, “Is everything okay, Mom?”

“Yes, it’s just …” She has a bewildered look on her face. “We’re going to be grandparents again.”

“I know. Dad told me.” And once her worry ebbs, she’s going to be ecstatic. My mother lives for her grandchildren.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about Vicki.”