S. Yule - Lycan Redemption

“Patrick?” Myka called out as she entered the small mudroom connected to the kitchen.

She hung her coat on a hook by the door and pulled her boots off. Patrick had been helping her in the barn earlier, but once they’d gotten close to finishing up the last stall, she’d sent him to the house to get cleaned up for dinner. The delay with Galen may have given the little boy just enough time to find trouble.

Patrick was a great kid with a huge heart, but he had an inclination for mischief. There wasn’t a mean bone in the kid’s body. Unfortunately, he was not only the spitting image of Travis physically but had inherited his father’s penchant for attracting trouble. Travis never looked for trouble, but it had persistently followed him wherever he’d gone. A slight flutter of panic hit her in the gut when she remembered the late-night phone call six months ago from Travis’s employer, and she hurried down the hall to check the bathroom.

She smiled in relief when she peeked through the crack of the partially closed door and saw Patrick. He was standing on the red step stool she’d gotten him, in front of the sink, brushing his teeth. She shook her head before patting the door lightly.

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen. Hurry up. We’re going to have company.”

She didn’t wait for his answer as she made her way back to the kitchen. The robust scent of the roast, potatoes, and carrots she’d put in the Crock-Pot this morning wafted enticingly through the house. She washed her hands, retrieved a head of lettuce from the fridge, rinsed it, and placed it on a cutting board. She found a bowl in the lower cabinet, then got to work cutting up the green leaves for salad.

Once finished, she rinsed the knife and cutting board before placing them in the strainer to air-dry. By the time she’d sprinkled shredded cheese on the salad and gotten the dressing out, Patrick was standing beside her.

“Who’s coming for dinner? We never have guests.”

She was happy to see him exert the general enthusiasm and curiosity a little boy should about such a thing. She’d been worried about Patrick for months after Travis’s death. He’d been sullen, withdrawn, and depressed for much longer than she thought was healthy. With the help of Ms. Case—Betty, a psychiatrist who’d chosen Loring, Montana, for her retirement home—Patrick had slowly shown improvement over the past few months. Betty had refused any kind of payment for helping Patrick, which had been a blessing since Myka hadn’t had the funds to pay for therapy. That hadn’t stopped her from slipping Betty fresh eggs and produce here and there whenever possible.

Patrick was technically supposed to start kindergarten in a couple weeks, but Betty suggested waiting until next year considering the recent trauma of losing his father. Myka had agreed, but in compromise took him to a local day care once a week for a supervised play day. She and Betty both wanted Patrick to maintain as normal of a life as possible in the rural community, wanted to expose him to other children and give him every opportunity to have friends and be a typical kid.

On the day that Patrick went to day care, Myka took care of errands and occasionally made the trip to neighboring Malta for supplies that weren’t always readily available in her small community. Over time, Patrick had come out of his shell, and had become a happy, carefree boy. Myka would always struggle with her brother’s death, and she was an adult who understood that death was a part of life. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Patrick felt, a child who couldn’t comprehend the full meaning of death.

He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his father was never coming back. How did one explain death to a five-year-old? She’d had no idea, and that was where their guardian angel, Betty, had entered. While Myka wasn’t an atheist, she didn’t belong to a specific religion either. She believed that there was a higher power out there somewhere, someone who had created the earth and everything on it—the universe, for that matter—but she wasn’t sure exactly who or what that someone was. However, when she and Betty together decided that Patrick might deal better with his father’s passing if he thought of Travis as an angel, Myka had had no problem with it if it provided any measure of comfort for him.

Besides, why couldn’t angels exist? Weren’t angels, after all, beings of protection, light, and kindness? An angel didn’t necessarily have to have a halo and wings, as was the wide-believed notion. An angel, in her opinion, was someone who came into one’s life when all hope seemed lost. Someone who lent a guiding hand and a kind heart. Someone who could help one find the right path in life. Travis would do all of that and more for Patrick if he were still alive. If there was an afterlife, she had no doubt he’d do that for Patrick from there as well.

“We have a new farmhand, Patrick. His name is Galen, but you should call him Mr.—” That’s when she realized he hadn’t told her his last name.

“The last name is Soloman, but I’d prefer to be called Galen if that would be okay with you, Myka.”

She spun around to find Galen standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but you were obviously preoccupied.”

“It’s okay.”

“Patrick, this is Galen Soloman. If he doesn’t mind you calling him Galen, I’m okay with that.”

She quietly watched as Patrick sized Galen up. After a few moments of apparent indecision, he slowly walked to him, cocked his head to the side, and offered his hand. The resemblance to Travis was uncanny, but she saw traits coming out that were uniquely Patrick as well.

Galen squatted, then firmly but gently clasped Patrick’s hand. Myka swallowed around a lump in her throat. There was something about watching a big man like Galen interact with a little boy like Patrick that melted her heart. Galen stood and followed Patrick over to the table. Suddenly, the moderately sized kitchen felt cramped.

“Have a seat. I’m finishing up dinner.”

“Anything I can help with?” Galen asked.

Patrick sat across the table from Galen, intently watching every move he made, but Galen didn’t seem to mind.

“Patrick, why don’t you ask Galen to help you set the table?”

“Wanna help?” Patrick asked.

“Sure.” Galen nodded.

She put the pot roast and veggies on a platter while Galen and Patrick got plates, silverware, and glasses placed for each of them. After putting the food on the table, and filling the glasses with iced tea—milk for Patrick—they all sat down. She glanced at Galen. It would take her a while to get used to his size. He had to be a good six and a half feet tall. His biceps were well-defined, along with the muscles in his forearms, and his fingers were long and straight and looked made for hard labor. He was quite an amazing-looking man, but she felt like a midget next to him. Barely topping out at five feet, she’d grown accustomed to feeling small around most others, but Galen was a whole other story.

“Dang it!” She snapped her fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked.

“Forgot the biscuits.”

“Looks like a wonderful dinner, Myka. I’m okay with no biscuits,” Galen said.

“Me too!” Patrick readily agreed.

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay. No biscuits. Eat up.”

She was about to ask Patrick if he needed help getting his food, when he held his plate up, and Galen began scooping some roast and veggies onto it.

“Enough?” Galen asked, and Patrick nodded.

Galen then passed the platter to Myka and waited until she was finished before filling his own plate. She couldn’t deny he had great manners.