Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Three
Page 15
“You know. That’s not just any pig, Bo,” I said, leaning down to pet Oscar who was actually wagging his curly tail when he saw me. “Hey there, boy.”
“No. He’s a super pig,” Preppy added.
“Yep, he’s a super pig,” I agreed.
We spent the next couple of hours playing with Oscar who was still as active as ever in his old age and seemed happier than a...well, happier than a pig in shit, to be home again although I did find him lingering in the doorway of Mirna’s room at one point. He looked sad when I scratched him on the head and told him that she wasn’t coming back. But when Bo came skipping down the hallway, Oscar squealed and happily followed him back out into the yard.
When I turned around from the door Preppy was staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “This was a great surprise. Thank you so much,” I said as he cornered me in the hall, pressing my back up against the bathroom door.
He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose and dropped his forehead to mine. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Doc.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dre For the next few weeks our little family settled into a comfortable routine. The bikers continued to stick around the house to watch over things, but they’d been reduced from over six of them in the yard at a time to only two. We hadn’t figured out who or why I was a target that night but Preppy told me it was being handled and I trusted him with his word. I didn’t ask about the details, the where, how’s, and why’s, because I know he’d tell me, and sometimes ignorant bliss is just that.
Bliss.
Kevin and Preppy were spending more time together. Preppy even started taking him to the granny houses to teach him how to set up a grow room and schmooze the grannies.
We enrolled Bo in a special private school, and although it was summer he was attending their summer school program part time so they could evaluate his needs. There were no records of him ever attending school and he hadn’t spoken another word since he’d yelled for me that night. We didn’t know what exactly he’d suffered at the hands of his mother and stepdad, so Preppy, drawing on his own childhood traumas, thought it best Bo saw a professional to make sure he didn’t suffer any more emotionally than he already had, so he was seeing a counselor who specialized in child abuse twice a week.
If everything went well, which so far it seemed like it was, then Bo would officially be attending kindergarten in the fall. Preppy also hired a private tutor to help Bo learn to communicate better through sign language. The tutor would spend an hour with Bo alone, then Preppy and I would join in on the session and we would all learn together. Kevin eventually joined us and the four of us had a pretty good grasp on the basics.
I spent most of my time when Bo was at school making our home feel like a home, refinishing furniture I’d found in the garage, and fixing broken pipes and wiring. It wasn’t a huge space so I painted the walls with a fresh coat of eggshell. The furniture was all white and I’d sanded down the dining room table to give it a worn look. Most importantly I made sure Bo’s room was everything a little boy could ever want. When Preppy had asked Bo what theme he wanted for his bedroom he chose cowboys and Indians. Not the most politically correct choice, but we weren’t about to explain that to a six-year-old.
I painted the walls of his room and his furniture a pale grey. I bought a scrap of white canvas and found some heavy sticks that I sanded down. I painted grey and orange zig-zag stripes on the canvas and attached them to the smooth sticks, making Bo his very own little tee-pee. I hung a branch that I’d spray painted black from the ceiling and layered it with white twinkling lights. I finished the look with a few fun colored throw pillows I’d sewn patches on. One with red cowboy boots, the other with a yellow cowboy hat and matching bandana.
The end result was a contemporary looking kid’s room that was both fun and functional.
I’d just finished setting up a mini table and chairs in the corner of his room to create a little play/work station when I heard a noise that sounded like shuffling feet on the porch.
I walked out into the living room and heard the noise again, this time right on the other side of the door but no one knocked or rang the bell.
It’s probably just Rev or Wolf.
I steeled myself, grabbed the handle, and swung open the door.
I squeaked in surprise to find Preppy standing there with a dazed look on his face, his closed fist in the air like he was about to knock. “I forgot my keys,” he said flatly.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” I asked, fear coursing through me. “I thought you were meeting with King.” That’s when I realized Preppy didn’t look dazed at all.
He looked horrified.
“I think they’re trying to kill me,” he whispered.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” I asked, stepping aside to let Preppy in so he could avoid whatever threat was after him. But then, two shrieking little blond blurs zipped past us into the house, my knees buckled as they sideswiped my legs on the way in.
Preppy grunted when the little boy elbowed him in the junk.
“Them,” Preppy groaned, holding the crotch of his khakis. He pointed to the two little kids who were now chasing each other around the island in the kitchen. “Them. They’re the ones trying to kill me.”
“Max and Sammy? KIDS!” I slapped him in the arm. “You gave me a fucking heart attack.”
Preppy straightened himself and followed me into the house. He stood behind the couch and continued to stare at King and Doe’s two oldest kids as they darted down the hallway. Immediately there was a crashing sound like they’d run into the wall followed by giggles and more running.
“Where is Bo?” Preppy asked.
“Taking a nap in our room, but something tells me that with those two racing around he won’t be napping for much longer,” I said.
“I don’t know where they get all that fucking energy from. Bo’s not like that. He plays hard but I never get the feeling that he’s out to fucking kill me. These two don’t slow down. They don’t even breathe. Plus, they keep telling me they’re hungry, but they won’t eat a damn thing I give them, which was fucking everything,” Preppy said, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking up at me through his lashes which were ridiculously long for a man.
“No. He’s a super pig,” Preppy added.
“Yep, he’s a super pig,” I agreed.
We spent the next couple of hours playing with Oscar who was still as active as ever in his old age and seemed happier than a...well, happier than a pig in shit, to be home again although I did find him lingering in the doorway of Mirna’s room at one point. He looked sad when I scratched him on the head and told him that she wasn’t coming back. But when Bo came skipping down the hallway, Oscar squealed and happily followed him back out into the yard.
When I turned around from the door Preppy was staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “This was a great surprise. Thank you so much,” I said as he cornered me in the hall, pressing my back up against the bathroom door.
He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose and dropped his forehead to mine. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Doc.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dre For the next few weeks our little family settled into a comfortable routine. The bikers continued to stick around the house to watch over things, but they’d been reduced from over six of them in the yard at a time to only two. We hadn’t figured out who or why I was a target that night but Preppy told me it was being handled and I trusted him with his word. I didn’t ask about the details, the where, how’s, and why’s, because I know he’d tell me, and sometimes ignorant bliss is just that.
Bliss.
Kevin and Preppy were spending more time together. Preppy even started taking him to the granny houses to teach him how to set up a grow room and schmooze the grannies.
We enrolled Bo in a special private school, and although it was summer he was attending their summer school program part time so they could evaluate his needs. There were no records of him ever attending school and he hadn’t spoken another word since he’d yelled for me that night. We didn’t know what exactly he’d suffered at the hands of his mother and stepdad, so Preppy, drawing on his own childhood traumas, thought it best Bo saw a professional to make sure he didn’t suffer any more emotionally than he already had, so he was seeing a counselor who specialized in child abuse twice a week.
If everything went well, which so far it seemed like it was, then Bo would officially be attending kindergarten in the fall. Preppy also hired a private tutor to help Bo learn to communicate better through sign language. The tutor would spend an hour with Bo alone, then Preppy and I would join in on the session and we would all learn together. Kevin eventually joined us and the four of us had a pretty good grasp on the basics.
I spent most of my time when Bo was at school making our home feel like a home, refinishing furniture I’d found in the garage, and fixing broken pipes and wiring. It wasn’t a huge space so I painted the walls with a fresh coat of eggshell. The furniture was all white and I’d sanded down the dining room table to give it a worn look. Most importantly I made sure Bo’s room was everything a little boy could ever want. When Preppy had asked Bo what theme he wanted for his bedroom he chose cowboys and Indians. Not the most politically correct choice, but we weren’t about to explain that to a six-year-old.
I painted the walls of his room and his furniture a pale grey. I bought a scrap of white canvas and found some heavy sticks that I sanded down. I painted grey and orange zig-zag stripes on the canvas and attached them to the smooth sticks, making Bo his very own little tee-pee. I hung a branch that I’d spray painted black from the ceiling and layered it with white twinkling lights. I finished the look with a few fun colored throw pillows I’d sewn patches on. One with red cowboy boots, the other with a yellow cowboy hat and matching bandana.
The end result was a contemporary looking kid’s room that was both fun and functional.
I’d just finished setting up a mini table and chairs in the corner of his room to create a little play/work station when I heard a noise that sounded like shuffling feet on the porch.
I walked out into the living room and heard the noise again, this time right on the other side of the door but no one knocked or rang the bell.
It’s probably just Rev or Wolf.
I steeled myself, grabbed the handle, and swung open the door.
I squeaked in surprise to find Preppy standing there with a dazed look on his face, his closed fist in the air like he was about to knock. “I forgot my keys,” he said flatly.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” I asked, fear coursing through me. “I thought you were meeting with King.” That’s when I realized Preppy didn’t look dazed at all.
He looked horrified.
“I think they’re trying to kill me,” he whispered.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” I asked, stepping aside to let Preppy in so he could avoid whatever threat was after him. But then, two shrieking little blond blurs zipped past us into the house, my knees buckled as they sideswiped my legs on the way in.
Preppy grunted when the little boy elbowed him in the junk.
“Them,” Preppy groaned, holding the crotch of his khakis. He pointed to the two little kids who were now chasing each other around the island in the kitchen. “Them. They’re the ones trying to kill me.”
“Max and Sammy? KIDS!” I slapped him in the arm. “You gave me a fucking heart attack.”
Preppy straightened himself and followed me into the house. He stood behind the couch and continued to stare at King and Doe’s two oldest kids as they darted down the hallway. Immediately there was a crashing sound like they’d run into the wall followed by giggles and more running.
“Where is Bo?” Preppy asked.
“Taking a nap in our room, but something tells me that with those two racing around he won’t be napping for much longer,” I said.
“I don’t know where they get all that fucking energy from. Bo’s not like that. He plays hard but I never get the feeling that he’s out to fucking kill me. These two don’t slow down. They don’t even breathe. Plus, they keep telling me they’re hungry, but they won’t eat a damn thing I give them, which was fucking everything,” Preppy said, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking up at me through his lashes which were ridiculously long for a man.
