Bearly Hanging On (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (The Jamesburg Shifters Book 6) (19 page)

"Yes, I heard you the first time, but what's in there? It smells like hell vomited up a pot of stew. Uh, is that a bat?"

"No," Jenga said, poking a bat down back into the pot with his spoon. "Well, maybe. But it ain't nothin' personal."

"Right," she said, still wrinkling her nose. "Listen, do you have a minute? By which I mean, are you almost done cooking that, uh, lunch?" A frog leg, and then what appeared to be half of a ham, both bobbed to the surface and quickly were sucked back down into the greenish-brown abyss. Jamie felt the back of her throat tighten just a little, but she couldn't look away. "What else is in there?"

"Oh," he said, looking off to the side like he was trying to recall. "Couple salamanders, ham sandwich, roll of sausage, couple bats, frog or two, hamster, I think? Hard to remember. They were all already dead. Don't you worry none about that, I wouldn't kill anything to feed 'em. Hell, Atlas is so soft-hearted, he'd get upset if I did."

"That's sweet of him," Jamie said, fighting back the nausea. "So, do you want me to come back?"

"Naw, come on in! I just have to finish this right quick. Have a seat, enjoy a magazine, anything you want. I'll be right back."

Jenga jangled off, his beard swaying to and fro, trinkets, chicken feet and whatever else he had tied in there, clanging along as he went. Jamie took a seat near the window at the front of his office, and opened it to at least let some of the ripe stink escape. In the magazine caddy near her seat were no less than six copies of the same issue of a baseball card pricing guide, a National Geographic about the hunt for Bigfoot from the 1970s, and every single issue of Soap Opera Digest since 1984.

She grabbed the latest issue, and was vaguely amazed to see that Beau and Hope were somehow still a thing, as she waited for the witchdoctor to finish whatever he was banging around with in the kitchen.

He emerged, still jangling, still whistling a tune. In one hand, he carried a blender. With a thud, he set the blender on a table next to his cauldron, and plugged it in.

"You're not actually going to..." Jamie trailed off, not willing or able to vocalize her horror without it becoming even more real.

"You ever seen that old Saturday Night Live skit?" Jenga started chuckling. "With Dan what’s-his-name? Bass-o-Matic?"

Jamie felt her stomach lurch. "Ugh," she said, swallowing hard. "Dan Aykroyd, and yeah, I have. Why?"

The answer came in the form of a gloppy soup plopping into the blender. From the very first drop, the liquid was so thick that it just settled into the vessel, not splashing back at all. When half a frog fell into the mixer, Jamie finally managed to tear her eyes away.

"Camp town races, doo-dah, doo-dah," Jenga sang happily.

The sound of the blender's blade catching on something as Jenga kept on singing "doo-dah, doo-dah" reminded Jamie of some kind of surrealist horror movie. If only he was singing some kind of opera, she thought, she'd be in the middle of a David Lynch movie.

"There!" Jenga announced. Jamie turned to face him just in time to see him pour the now-smooth mixture into a gallon milk jug, and then a second helping into a quart-sized one. "Lunch is ready!"

Suddenly, he took on a very sad look.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asked, as the old witch doctor sat down opposite her, in his makeshift waiting room.

"I keep forgetting he's got a job now," he said. She'd never seen anyone go from that happy to that sad in so short a time. "It's for the best though. They've both got such a sense of purpose now. If'n they ever build that stoplight, I'll have to find something else he can do."

"Wait," Jamie said, "I forgot he was doing that. They're both acting like stoplights at that intersection? How have I never gone to look at this? Distracted I guess."

"Oh yes, indeedie-doo," Jenga said, smiling again. "It's like they're both all grown up. I've got him reading Robert Frost now, you know."

The mental image of the eight and a half foot tall, Frankensteined-together zombie bear reciting "two roads diverged in a yellow wood," with heart-felt gravity was just about too much for Jamie to bear. "Does he, er, like it?"

Jenga shrugged. "Seems to. He's only eaten a couple of the books so far. Don't seem partial to the sad ones, which I can understand."

Jamie was shaking her head in amazement. "What about Sara? She's got to have some thoughts on the matter."

Sara was the mate that Jenga had sewed together for Atlas when the big bear started pining after - and dangerously pawing - at pretty much everything in town with a pair of breasts or long hair. He wasn't picky.

"She was most pleased when he started reciting some of it to her. The two of them have become so amorous of late that I went and built them a little shed out back a' my place. It was just too wild, y'see, with them constantly—"

"Okay," Jamie said, putting a hand up. "That's fantastic. I don't really need to hear about the two of them—"

"Oh, you should'a heard 'em goin' at it." Jenga whistled between his front teeth, with a grin on his face, ignoring both Jamie, and common human decency. "Just a'gruntin' and a'groanin.' I'm pretty sure I even heard a moo or two at some point, thought I ain't sure what brought that on. Pretty certain I used a pig heart in the both of 'em..."

Jamie closed her eyes tight and pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn't help but remember the way Gertrude, West's cow, reacted to her feeding. Those big, brown eyes rolling around, all that mooing and excited groaning. Jamie started to laugh and then caught herself, out of fear it might encourage Jenga to keep going with his Penthouse Letters for Zombies story.

"Good," she said, smiling. "I'm glad they have each other. That's very good. Listen, I came by to—"

"Don't think either of 'em ever oinked," Jenga said, still looking thoughtfully out the window, and tugging on the front of his beard. "I'd remember oinking. It was mostly just the gruntin' and the heavin'. I'll tell you, you ain't never seen anything like—"

"Yep! And I never, ever, will become any more intimately familiar with zombie lovin' time, if there is any good at all in the universe," Jamie shot back before Jenga could go any further with his graphic description of said zombie lovin' time.

"You asked," Jenga said with a shrug.

"Wait, no I didn't." Jamie couldn't help but laugh a little. Even at his most graphic and upsetting, Jenga was Jenga. Just like Jamesburg, you gotta love it. "Anyway, I feel kind of weird asking you about this, but I don't really have anywhere else to go."

Suddenly, Jenga went from jokey and smiley to serious in the space of a couple seconds. As ridiculous and outlandish as he was, he had long since been very protective of Jamie for reasons she didn't quite understand. "Sit," he said.

"I already am."

"Oh, right, then. Good. Is it anything serious? What's going on?"

Oh right, maybe it was because he'd been functioning as her therapist for about twenty years. That could do the trick.

"Yeah, or... maybe," she said. "I'm not really sure. I'm dating a jewel thief," she said with a deep exhale. "And I've never been happier in my entire life."

Jenga's clinical nod, and non-response spurred her on. "But he doesn't do anything to hurt anyone - directly I mean, I'm not naive - and he's taking care of a bunch of old shifters who live outside town. And on top of all that, I've started thinking about," she trailed off, already starting to swallow hard. "Shit, this is going to be a Kleenex day," she said, as Jenga handed the box to her without any prompting.

"Ryan Drake?" Jenga asked, producing a pen from out of his beard, and a notepad from the breast pocket of his wonderfully gaudy Hawaiian shirt. It was unbuttoned about halfway down his chest, which you could only see when his beard moved, and featured a bunch of pictures of Elvis with leis.

Jamie just stared. "How did—?"

"I just know things. It's easy to keep up with all the news when I don't have very much else to do. And anyway, people like Atlas, he knows everyone. Sara is more prickly."

"But he never comes into town, and only a handful of us knew about those people he’s protecting," Jamie sat up, tucking one of her feet underneath herself, and sat back down. "Just... how?"

Jenga shrugged with a smile. "Doctor-patient privilege. The same reason no one knows anything about you, except what you tell 'em."

She let that sink in for a moment. He'd let slip that Ryan saw him, or at least knew him, which was wild enough. But to think Jenga had kept completely silent about everything?

"Is he a secret billionaire?" Jamie asked, out of nowhere.

"Let me tell you a story," Jenga began. Jamie sighed, because these stories always went on for an extended time. But there was always something relevant about what he rambled out, so she always listened. Just like always, when he switched from zany witchdoctor mode to counselor mode, his grammar somehow became very good.

"There was a girl, once, who came to see me when this town was about... oh, half the size it is now. Long time ago, you see. Although it feels longer than it was. That must've been only twenty years or so back."

He laughed, rubbing at one of his shoulders. The stuff in his beard all jingled. "Twenty years is yesterday when you get as old as Jenga, you know. But there was something special about this girl. She had a tender heart, but was outwardly cold, you see? She pretended not to care about people, or persons, or however you want to pluralize that word, but she was the most loyal friend, fiercely, almost dangerously loyal friend, that I've ever seen a person have." His words were slow and carefully chosen. His eyes narrowed, and he was jabbing his palm with his index finger to emphasize each of his points. "And no matter what happened, nothing could get that little girl down. Except one thing."

"Herself?" Jamie asked, recognizing the story immediately.

"Ah, but it wasn't herself, not really. It was what she thought that others thought of her. She decided that since she was different, both in heart, and in body, that she stuck out, that she wasn't one of them."

Jamie was nodding. This had gotten to the point a lot faster than most of his stories, although she wasn't entirely sure what the point was, this seemed to be moving in that direction.

"Her case was so odd, because the only thing that saved that girl, I've always thought, is all the tragedy she managed to survive." He coughed, turning his head to the side. It was a dry, rattling cough that had as much to do with age than it did anything else. "Do you remember the first time you sat in that chair?"

Jamie looked down at the armrests, trying to remember if it was actually this chair that she first sat in.

"It was that chair," Jenga said. "My memory isn't what it used to be, but I've kept a few things straight over all them years. That chair was the first one you sat in when I did this way back when. Then of course, I went a bit insane, but I got better."

Jamie snickered at his digression, which from the way he smiled at her, was exactly the point of what he said. She shook her head, though. "I don't. I mean, not exactly. My head was in a thousand different places back then."

"It's in more than one right now, unless I'm wrong."

"Shit," Jamie swore with a slight chuckle. "Yeah, I'll say. I don't think I've ever been more confused about what I should be doing."

Jenga smiled one of his Cheshire grins. "I think you've been far more lost before." And just like that damn cat, he had to say something cryptic. "I think right now, your mind is clearer than ever before. You're afraid, though, of what that might mean."

She stared at him, long and hard. What he said was exactly right, of course, but damn if she could help what she was feeling. She must have been shaking her head a lot more than she thought, because Jenga talked before she could.

"It's normal, you know," he said. "Normal to feel the way you do. But you said something else - you were talking about thinking about the past? Is it your parents?"

Jamie shook her head. "No," she whispered. "It's... I'm okay with that, now. I was thinking about," she reached for her tissue and took it away from her face a lot more red than she thought it was going to be. How long had it been since she thought about what had happened?

"I was thinking about," she sniffed again. "Well, you're the only one that knows. I think."

"Ah," the old man sat forward, and put the pen and notepad down on the table in front of him. "The baby, yes?”

"I don't know why I started thinking about it," she said as a red drop fell on Jenga's floor. Jamie pushed at it with her toe, then bent over to wipe it up.

"That's one of the least gross things that has graced this floor in quite some time," he said to make her smile. It worked, at least for a moment. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't that long ago, you know. Only three years, which seems the distant past to you young'uns, but to me seems like yesterday."

Jamie was nodding. "I know, but it's... I just didn't think I was the sort of person to still be upset about something like that, something so," she trailed off again, searching for the words. Finally, she just started shaking her head. "That doesn't seem like me, you know? I didn't even want a baby, I mean, not really. I didn't even know I had one. Until..."

Standing up and moving to the chair closer to her, Jenga grabbed one of Jamie's hands and rubbed his thumbs on the back. "The little girl you once were," he said, very slowly, very softly, "she has never left. Not entirely. You're stronger now, you've grown, yes? But that insecurity, the inability to really believe in yourself - that's never left. It's in the back of your mind, and will never leave, because it's been part of you for as long as there's been a Jamie."

Everything he said made sense. It always did, but that didn't mean she liked it one damn bit. "I just thought I had gotten over all that, I—" she stopped short and dabbed at her eyes. "I lied," she said, "about not knowing why I started thinking about the miscarriage."

"Oh?" Jenga's eyes were smiling. He had that way of relaxing a person just with a look from those gentle, pale blue eyes. "I never would have guessed."