FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter Fifteen

Friday July 4, 2008

6:27pm

"Some Fourth of July," muttered Roger.

Rain hammered the shingles of the Spriggs house. Streams of cold water rushed down the curbs. A warning for flash flooding ran across the lowest quarter of the television screen. Independence Day plans throughout Indiana and the rest of the Midwest had been dampened by the incessant deluge. For the Spriggs, burgers meant to have been grilled had been broiled, and after a somber family dinner, Bella, an increasingly-rare sight, had fled.

Wedged on the couch between her son and more mannerly daughter, Patricia looked to the window for a glimpse of rolling gray and spoke in a bland, murmuring tone. "I need a drink."

"Me too," agreed Tyson. The rain was arousing bitter recollections and teasing wounds still fresh.

Anessa shrunk into the couch and shook her head.

It was a matter of tradition--drinks for all at the Spriggs' house on the Fourth. Roger marched downstairs and returned with three glass bottles, passing one to his wife and the next to his son.

"Thanks," grunted Tyson. "Been a while since I drank."

A smirk crept onto Patricia's muzzle, and she nudged at her son with a slender elbow. "Your high school self would be disappointed."

"Oh, come on," said Tyson, cracking open his bottle and rolling his eyes. "I didn't drink that much--nothing like Bell does."

"That girl--" Patricia began, shaking her head.

"Don't you think she's overdoing it? She's annihilating herself."

Roger nodded silently from his chair and pulled a swig of beer.

"At least I've got one good pup!" remarked Patricia, smiling at her youngest child.

Anessa's ears went flat. "Jeeze, Mom."

* * *

Saturday July 5, 2008

12:50am

Eight bottles stood in pairs before a pair of shepherds, reflecting the television's radiance whilst sound of the steadfast rain droned on.

"And you cried and cried and cried," giggled Patricia, and she set a ninth empty bottle upon the TV room carpet.

Tyson was enjoying a nice, warm buzz, and he grinned at his mother's reminiscence. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was. You'd crawl into our bed and tell us that you weren't going back to sleep, but as soon as I'd tuck you in, you were out." The mother shepherd affectionately gazed at her son and scratched at his big, pointy ears.

A dull sense of discontent suddenly cut through the alcohol and Tyson's good mood, and light and life left his eyes for a brief moment. The grin faded from his muzzle.

"What's wrong?" asked Patricia.

Tyson forced an inquisitive smile. "What do you mean?"

"Do you miss her?"

"I mean--"

There was no confrontation in his mother's gaze, just the flicker of the television upon dark, scrutinizing eyes, obsidian coat and glimmering lips.

The younger shepherd gave a long sigh. "Yeah," he admitted. "I guess."

Patricia gently placed her head upon Tyson's shoulder and noted, her voice soft, uncharacteristic. "I don't want you to be unhappy, you know."

Several seconds passed before Tyson spoke. "Would you mind if I went to see her again? Just once, for a proper goodbye."

Frowning, Patricia considered her response.

"I would rather you didn't," she said.

"Please, Mom."

The mother shepherd pulled back, grinned. "What, feeling pent up?"

"That's notit," snorted Tyson.

Snickering to herself, Patricia rested the back of her neck against the couch and patted her son's thigh. And as she did, her fingers gave him the slightest of a squeeze.

A strange, prickling sensation struck Tyson as his mother's claws prodded at his jeans. He glanced to the paw, then to his mother's crooked grin. "Hey," he grumbled uncomfortably, "are you drunk?"

"I wish," sighed Patricia.

"There's more beer downstairs, isn't there?" asked Tyson, wanting to slip from the couch.

Before Patricia could reply, her ears perked--a car in the drive. The house's front door exhaled and crashed shut. "Finally," she said.

The distant scent of liquor told of Bella's inebriated approach.

"I'm going to bed," muttered Tyson, and he stood, and as he did his mother's paw slipped from his lap.

"Goodnight, Ty."

Bungling footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Patricia stood to dismiss her son with a hasty hug and kiss.

Tyson's eyes stretched wide.

The kiss lingered between their lips for one paralyzing second.