Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 16
~

Mama had invited Ezra for tea, out on the terrace with her, as though maybe to protect her from the gore she presumed would be forthcoming at the breakfast counter.

But Papa sat quietly for too long, lurchin’ over his own hot cup of tea. The ogre bull isn’t a huge fan of usin’ a lot of words when a few get the point across, but his complete silence was confusin’ me.

“On the grand scheme of things,” he finally began. I waited. That usually begins a longer thread of thought. So I waited some more.

But after a bit, I gave up. “Are ya gonna finish that thought?”

He sighed. My big, serious, ogre papa, sighed. Not something I think I’ve ever heard him do. More a sound Mama might make—before she took a swing at my head—in a lovin’ fashion.

“Why doncha,” he said, “tell me the obvious, and we’ll see if we’re on the same page.”

Uh. Don’t think he’d ever pulled that strategy on me before. “Uh. The obvious?”

He nodded.

“Uh.” I studied Papa for a bit. “I’ve got a guest who’s caused the clan a bit of embarrassment.”

“Imagine, a bit of social folderol wrappin’ an ogre community’s panties in a wad.”

I waited, unsure where he was going with that preamble. The term social folderol confused me. So I mumbled, “Folderol?”

“Foolishness,” he growled, as though I was ignernt for not figgerin’ out his meaning via context. So, social foolishness is how my clan and council leader was summarizin’ the situation. That stumped me, maybe. Maybe I’m not as bright as I think I am. ’Cause pretty sure, Papa wouldn’t be seein’ this Ezra-Thomas thing—in the wrong light. ’Cause he’s pretty bright.

“We make a big deal out of this.” He spoke slowly. Not his usual manner. “And it might send a signal to some fool that it was all right to smash yar guest’s head in. That we’re still social backwater idjits.”

Huh? Think he just said, protectin’ Ezra from being infringed upon by a human was— Wait. I missed something.

“Gotta fine yar ignernt ogre butt for disturbin’ the peace,” He said. “Ya’ll be payin’ the salary of three new staff members at the Hamlet daycare for the next two years.”

That wasn’t so bad. Kriz and I had mused, can’t say we talked, about buildin’ our own center on the other side of the Lake. So my fine was consistent with our own intentions.

Papa finished his cup of tea, rose from his stool, and strode away. The front door opened and closed. Didn’t slam. So maybe he was calm and deliberate, which confused the heck out of me even more. We ogres are emotional folk. I’ve heard it said. Though compared to, say, orcs, we’re fairly calm.

Mama, maybe hearin’ Papa drive away, entered what she calls the day room, which is weird because we only mingle there at night. Ezra followed her. Both the hens held their eyes open wide, prolly as confused as me.

“Ya okay?” Mama asked.

“Uh. Just confused,” I said.

“Didn’t hear any shoutin’,” Ezra said.

Mama sat where Papa had been sittin’. Ezra took the stool on my left. Funny, Mama peered in Papa’s cup, like maybe she could read the tea leaves. Don’t know why that thought flowed into mind.

“I think he called the situation foolish,” I said.

Ezra mumbled, “I coulda told ya that, fool.”

~ Ezra ~

I couldn’t see that anything at all got the least bit settled. Aunt Dorig was pretty calm about it. Said we ogres can be pretty ignernt, the roles and drama we drape about us hens.

She said roles and drama. As though that explained a lot. Was she suggestin’ an entire community was makin’ way too much about a human enjoyin’ an ogre hen’s company? Didn’t think Aunt’s generation could be so reasonable.

“So, are ya gonna apologize to Thomas?” I asked Ike as we neared the drive that circled in front of the Inn.

He jerked a look my way for a moment. But didn’t say anything. Figgers. Ogre bulls tend to settle on the arrogant side of proud. Apologizin’ might suggest they aren’t perfect in every way. Imagine the shame in that.

“I can flirt all I want with any bull in the Valley. Can ya explain why it’s such a horrible thing for me to be seen enjoyin’ a human’s company?”

“Ya know it isn’t as simple as that,” Ike murmured, pullin’ to a stop at the walk that leads to the kitchen’s side entrance.

“Some things are as simple as ya allow ’em to be,” I said. “The important thing, is yar own thinkin’ fixed, and are ya gonna set all these fools straight?”

“Fixed? Don’t think settin’ folks straight will be as simple as ya seem to suggest it may be.” Hands at nine and two o’clock, he tapped his steering wheel with both thumbs, his lip worried his right tusk. “Folks are set in their ways. Figger there’s a natural reason for that. Not suggestin’ it’s the wish of the gods, but the accepted manner of behavior, creates a cohesiveness for the good. Call it cultural homogeneity.”

Big word for a fool. “Don’t listen too closely to yar own words,” I said, “or ya might convince yarself that ya have a right to sit on that high seat ya’re on.”

He lolled another short glance at me, but kept me more or less in view, as he weighed my words. The stubborn bull wasn’t gonna be able to take my assertion at face value, though. Bulls. So stinkin’ stubborn. Always overthinkin’ everything. I grabbed the door handle and pulled.

“Wait,” he said. “Yar respect.” He swallowed deeply. “Is more important to me than what anyone else in the Range thinks. But I can’t apologize for something that was expected of me—”

“Just shut yar mouth,” I growled. “Ya don’t need to be doublin’ up on yar idjitry.” I struggled to open the door, and shouted at him to unlock it. The cab of the truck simmered quiet for a moment, until he let me out.

I stormed toward the kitchen. Halfway there, figgered the last place my mind needed to be was among the cacklin’ hens. Dear friends to a one, but could I put up with the noise? Well-meanin’ or not. I turned toward our garden benches.

As I sat, my stomach growled like half a mountain slidin’ down slope. Had I had lunch? For a Valley afternoon, it was on the hot side. Amused me that I figgered Thomas would prolly shiver, even sittin’ here in the sun. Dawned on me, I held a considerable amount of—should I call it interest—in the human. I’d had crushes before, with bulls who didn’t return my sentiment. And this felt a bit like that. Except, in this case, Thomas was stubbornly tryin’ to convince me he was worth my consideration.

A bit of pain crossed my chest. I shouldn’t feel this way for a human. And while it could never go anywhere, I couldn’t allow it to interfere with my relationship with Ike.

My phone pinged, with the tone I’ve set aside for Kriz. Odd. This is work time for the fool. How could I even be on his mind? I struggled to pull my phone out of my smock’s deep pocket.

His text read, “Don’t over think it.” What? That made no sense, comin’ from my autistic cousin. Some days he’s not even aware if the sun is shinin’. And didn’t I just accuse Ike of that?

I mic’ed up and replied, “What the foolishness are ya talkin’ about?”

“Don’t call me a fool,” his next text read.

I rolled my eyes hard enough to give me a brain tumor.

“Not that I want to get involved in idjitry.” I waited for him to continue. “But in two days the world will have traveled around four million miles.” I rolled my eyes again. Not like Kriz to use more words than necessary. Figgers now he opts to do so. “Folk will have slept for hours. And their thoughts will be elsewhere.” Finally. Gets to the point. Not that his point explained much. I sighed.

He texted, “Don’t sigh at me either.” The fool.

I maybe continued to glare at my phone. In the bright light, the face dimmed, then slept. So he had nothing to add to that cryptic message. No explanation to how he had any context with where my mind lingered.

I was slidin’ my phone back in my pocket when the stinkin’ thing pinged again.

“Bring food to my place for dinner.” A bull. Always thinkin’ about food. And my stomach growled again. “I’ll see that Thomas joins us.”

What!

~