The Christmas Camel Read online

  “That’s another perk of the place.”

  “That it’s boring?”

  “That it’s peaceful.”

  “What I said. Boring.”

  Doing his best to ignore Johnny’s doubts, Darren studied the contents of his suitcases, satisfied with the results. Everything was neatly folded. Placed in perfect alignment. Color-coded. Black socks tucked in one corner. White socks in the other. Shirts and pants neatly rolled to minimize creases.

  “So you know nothing at all,” Johnny persisted.

  “I know it’s big enough to have a vet clinic, and that’s all I need to know.”

  “You do know that rural equals livestock, right?” Johnny asked. “Bovine, horses and… I don’t know. Sheep and stuff?”

  “I am aware.”

  “Brother,” Johnny said, chuckling. “Do you even know how to look after livestock? Because that’s what they have in rural farming towns. Not small, household pets. I mean, your practice here is all about little animals. Not giant barnyard creatures.”

  Darren flipped one of the suitcase lids closed, then carefully zipped it shut, making sure not to catch anything in the teeth. “An animal is an animal. Fundamentally, there’s not much difference between a sheep and a dog. Or a person, for that matter.”

  Matthew huffed a laugh.

  Johnny wasn’t nearly as discrete. He tilted his head back and howled with laughter. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Anatomically, most mammals share more similarities than differences.”

  “Oh, Darren. Look at this place. It’s clean enough to eat off the floor.”

  “Why would anyone want to eat off of the floor?”

  “They wouldn’t. I’m just saying, your apartment’s clean enough that if something fell, it’s not picking up any germs. Because there aren’t any here. You’re going from this…” Johnny gestured wildly with his arms, “to a small, country town which is probably full of cows and cow droppings and whatever else they have up there.”

  Darren sat on the edge of his bed, hands tightly clasped together. As soon as his brothers left, he was absolutely going to rummage through his suitcases and find his hand gripper. “I need a new job.”

  “Lotsa jobs here. You just need to lighten up.”

  “No. I need to get away.”

  Johnny rolled his eyes. “You hearing this guy? He needs to get away. You make it sound like we’re with the mafia.”

  “We’re neck deep in politics. Close enough.”

  “Please. All this because Mother asked you to support her upcoming campaign?”

  “That’s where it starts. But it’s a slippery slope. Here, Darren, sign this card. Hey, Darren, come to our fundraiser. Oh, Darren, would you mind standing onstage next to your mother while we take photos? Next thing I know… BAM! I’m right in the thick of it.”

  “And that’s a problem because?”

  Darren stood up. “Politics is nasty and divisive. I want nothing to do with it. I went to school to be a vet, not a politician.”

  “You can’t run away from your family.”

  “I’m not. I’m running away from their politics.”

  “With our last name? Good luck with that. Have you seen the headlines lately?”

  “Yes, and that’s another reason why I’m leaving.”

  “When we need to stick together? This is when loyalty matters the most. You running away, that sends a bad message to people who rely on us.”

  “I hope you don’t mean the voters are relying on me to stick around.”

  “Of course not. But Mother is. And she’s going to need all of us by her side.”

  “For the PR photos? No, thanks.”

  “People will know who you are. The moment you tell them your name.”

  Darren shrugged, trying not to let his concern show. “So it’s a good thing I’m not going to use our family name.”

  “Yes, because that’s so honorable. Lying about who you really are.”

  “I won’t lie, either. I’m using Mother’s maiden name as my last name.”

  Johnny snapped his fingers. “Sneaky. Maybe you’re better suited for politics than you think, Darren.”

  “Not even close.”

  “Basically, you’re running away.”

  Darren sighed. “Pretty much.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “I’ve made my decision.”

  “That’s not an answer. Hey, Matthew, help me out here.”

  Matthew glanced up, a smear of melted chocolate at one corner of his mouth. He shrugged.

  “You see?” Darren gestured to Matthew. “He doesn’t have a problem with me going.”

  “He just ate an entire jumbo bag of candy. His blood sugar level is too high for him to have a problem,” Johnny snapped. “And why this place of all places? It’s on the other side of the country.”

  Darren kept quiet for a moment. That was one of its selling points. No one from his politically inclined family was going to drop by to say hello in a rural town with no political importance. Or rope him into another campaign. Or push him for a public endorsement as a respectable community member. Or ask him for any favors. He’d be free and clear, to follow his own life, his own dreams.

  “It’s not like we do anything illegal,” Johnny added, looking hurt.

  “I know.” Darren was pretty sure that was true for his family, but less confident that applied to everyone in Mother’s political camp. But now wasn’t the time for unfounded accusations. “It’s time for me to grow my business. The setup is perfect. Dr. Blanchard’s practice is a lot bigger than mine, and he wants to semi-retire. He’ll stay for a year as a partner in the clinic while I get to know all of the clients—”

  “Yeah, getting to know cows sounds like fun.”

  “He already has an experienced receptionist, and a healthy client list. It’s perfect. I need some calm and sanity after…” He gestured vaguely, wishing he’d never started that last sentence.

  “After we all got dragged into that political scandal, you mean? It wasn’t even our fault.”

  “That’s the point. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. There’s so much mudslinging going on that the truth is completely irrelevant. I need a place where people just get on with their lives.”

  Johnny scuffed. “Does Mother know that?”

  “She has her own life. Why can’t I?”

  “Because we are who we are. And the family needs to stick together. You know who she’s going up against in this election. It’s a huge deal. If we don’t stick together, we’re going to lose.”

  “No. She might lose this election. But the rest of us? What are we going to lose?”

  Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know, bro. You don’t have to go across the country to grow up and have your own life.”

  “In this case, I do.”

  Darren glanced at his other suitcase. It was filled with books. Half of the suitcase was reserved for books on veterinary-related topics. The other half was for his absolute favorite book series ever, All Creatures Great and Small. He’d never been a fan of ebooks.

  Johnny tapped one of the books and studied the cover. “You know reality isn’t like the TV show.”

  “TV show?”

  “Yeah. These books were made into a TV series.”

  “I prefer the books. And I know it’s not exactly the same.”

  “Not even close.”

  “I’m going.” Darren closed the lid on the second suitcase. “And that’s it.”

  Johnny held up his hands. “Hey, it’s your life. Just out of curiosity, what’s the largest animal you’ve ever dealt with?”

  “Apart from you?”

  “Hilarious.”

  “A golden retriever.”

  “Then I hope you’re right.”

  “About?”

  “All mammals being similar and all.”

  “It’ll work out,” Darren said, and began searching for his hand gripper.

  Chapter Three

  I was not-so-secretly hoping there wasn’t a flight until the next week. Or the next year. Not because I was a nasty grandchild. And if I was, it wasn’t my fault.

  It wouldn’t have hurt for Duchess Delilah to have to sit in a jail cell and reflect on her life choices. Not that she would have, but it would’ve been nice to imagine her using that time for a little self-improvement.

  But no. The next flight was a redeye leaving that evening. There was one seat left, the digital travel agent told me. As if it were meant to be. Of course. Because the universe hates me.

  Only one ticket left. The words taunted me in bright red next to the Purchase button. This had serious implications. The first and most disappointing: I had no excuse to delay, or to leave Duchess in a cell pondering the series of bad choices that had led her there.

  The second implication: the flight was totally full. No spare seats to stretch out on and catch a few hours of sleep. Not even room to wiggle my elbows. I’d probably have a mouth breather sitting next to me. And a cranky, screaming child in front of me. And someone coughing up their lungs behind me.

  A message popped up. Your session is about to expire. Do you want to continue?

  “I’m about to expire, and not really,” I said, but gave in to the prompt to continue my session. At this rate, I’d need a session with my therapist.

  It’s only for a few days, I reassured myself.

  I was feeling optimistic at that thought, until the helpful digital travel agent informed me that my preferred dates were fully booked. The next available flight was a week into the future. A whole week with Duchess Delilah.

  I started reassessing my decision to bail her out. I didn’t really have to go, did I? Planes would be filled with snot-nosed kids and
other offenses. I mean, in a way, me not going was a little bit of tough love. It would be good for her.

  But then I thought of her cellmates stuck in there with her. Mahvash and sweet, frail, extremely elderly and arthritic Esther. Duchess’ best friends since they were three. They were Teaville’s version of The Three Musketeers, or the three witches from Macbeth, depending on who you asked.

  I couldn’t leave those two in jail. If history was anything to go by, they were there only because of Duchess and her shenanigans. And I couldn’t very well show up with bail for only two of them. Well, I could, but Duchess would insist that Mahvash remain behind as a sacrifice for the team.

  I gave myself a mental pep talk while my cursor fluttered over the Purchase button. One week, that’s all it was. I could survive a week. After all, how much trouble could I possibly get into in seven days?

  I didn’t dare answer that. Because… Duchess. I desperately wanted to discuss the risks of spending seven days with Duchess, but I didn’t have a cat I could talk to. Or even a houseplant. I was staring at a computer screen, silently arguing with an artificial, algorithm-driven travel agent who was now informing me that three other people were looking at my ticket at that very moment, and I better buy it or forever lose it. And my session was about to expire again.

  “Don’t tempt me, digital travel agent,” I warned. But in the end, I beat out those three others and bought the ticket. A one-week, roundtrip ticket.

  I decided to be very clever and avoid packing anything big enough to count as check-in luggage. I’d at least avoid the inevitably long and painfully slow line to the check-in counter. All I had was a carry-on case and my laptop bag. I didn’t need a lot of clothes. After all, I was only going for one week. Just seven days…

  Duchess Delilah better appreciate this, I thought as I quickly packed my bags. Of course, she probably wouldn’t. But I wasn’t doing this for her. And it was only one week.

  I held onto the promise like a mantra. It’s only one week. Just seven days. I silently chanted the words over and over as I waited for my driver (he was late). Stood in line to go through security (it was long). Hurried to my gate (the airport was crowded). Then stood in another long line to get onto the plane. A line filled with screaming, cranky children, and cranky parents ready to scream. The usual Christmas madness.

  This was yet another reason I didn’t want to travel. It was the Christmas holidays. I shouldn’t be doing this alone. Speaking of which…

  “I can’t believe he broke up with me,” I finished the thought under my breath. “Right before—”

  “Excuse me?”

  My head jerked up so fast, my jaw slammed shut, trapping the tip of my tongue between my teeth. I tried not to grimace too badly.

  The passenger in front of me was looking back, a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows. No doubt he was wondering from which insane asylum I’d escaped. A stethoscope poked out of his jacket pocket. A doctor, then. For all I knew, he worked in a hospital for the non-criminally deranged. Although I had a hard time imagining his somewhat handsome features in a loony bin.

  “I’m not loony,” I blurted out, sounding pretty much like a crazy person denying their insanity.

  The confused wrinkle deepened and multiplied. “I… hope not?”

  Please stop talking, I silently begged myself, struggling to come up with an explanation for my erratic behavior. I wasn’t even home yet, and I was already acting weird.

  “A nervous flyer?” the doctor asked, his tone clinical. I half-expected him to pull out a prescription pad.

  I wanted to deny it, but I figured being nervous was better than being crazy. Going with the lesser of two evils, I nodded.

  He held up a hand gripper. “You may want to try one of these. They’re great for stress.”

  Fantastic.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Then a flight attendant summoned the next passenger, and everyone shuffled forward like a line of tired zombies. The potentially awkward conversation with the doctor died a quick death.

  As people oozed through the airplane with all the energy of an invasion of slugs, I realized my flaw in bringing a carry-on case. The overhead bins were filling up fast.

  I stared past the line to my seat — back of the plane, next to the stinky toilets, because of course. All the bins were full except one. It had a pocket of space the exact size of my carry-on. If I was lucky and willing to dig my elbows into a few passengers as I squeezed past them, I could claim that space as my own.

  I was so willing to do that. And more.

  Except the doctor was blocking my path. He wasn’t a large guy, but had wide shoulders and a solid build, like his hands weren’t the only part of him working out. So even a modestly muscular fellow would block the aisle.

  Whoever had designed the plane’s interior must’ve owned a chicken factory before joining the aerospace industry. They had perfected the art and science of stuffing the maximum number of living creatures into the smallest possible space that was legally allowed.

  Even then, I had my doubts this was legal. Definitely not ethical.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, putting on my polite voice. “My seat’s up ahead. Do you mind—”

  “Mine, too,” the doctor said.

  “Great.”

  My plan of being as antisocial and introverted as possible for the entire flight was now ruined. I felt a certain social obligation to engage in idle chitchat while waiting for whoever was taking their sweet time to find their seat so the rest of us could sit in ours.

  Why was this so difficult?

  A woman with a whiny baby sat in a row near mine. I was torn between congratulating myself for guessing this would happen, and despair that it was happening.

  Only one week. Just seven days. Then I get to do this trip in reverse for New Year’s.

  Despair won.

  The doctor paused at the next row. I peered past him. A part of the storage space above my row was still free. As soon as everyone removed themselves from my path, I was claiming that overhead bin. I wanted my carry-on with me.

  But the doctor was also studying the overhead bin situation.

  “Excuse me, sir,” a flight attendant said, absolutely zero patience remaining. “Please take your seat.”

  Behind me, the lineup of passengers built up. Angry mumblings added to my irritation.

  “There we go,” he murmured.

  Before I could wail in protest, he sidled down the aisle and shoved his carry-on in the one remaining space. My space.

  The flight attendant pushed past the doctor as if sensing my anguish. She snatched my carry-on out of my hands. “Plane’s full. This will have to be checked in.”

  “But—”

  “You’ll get it at the end of the flight.” With practiced ease, she practically threw my case over the heads of the other passengers. Another flight attendant caught the case and carried it toward the front of the plane.

  It’s not a big deal, I told myself, but tears pricked my eyes. I rubbed them away. Not a big deal.

  The doctor held up another carry-on.

  How many carry-ons does one guy need? I thought.

  “Sir, there’s no room left,” the same flight attendant said. It was like she had a radar for this. She reached for his bag.

  “I need this with me,” he explained.

  “Hey, can you hurry up?” someone shouted from behind me.

  “Sir, there’s no room,” the flight attendant said.

  The baby started wailing in earnest. Why did the universe have to make my worst dreams come true?

  The mother of the screaming offspring shrugged and looked almost apologetic. “Charlie isn’t feeling too well.”

  “Join the club,” I muttered.

  “Sir, your bag, now,” the flight attendant said.

  “There’s space there,” the doctor said, pointing to the bin over the middle back row.

  I stood on tiptoes again, shifting my angle. There was one more space left. It was mine by rights and by whatever laws governed the use of overheard bins on a full flight.

  “That’s mine,” I said, but it was too late.

  The doctor enthusiastically swung his bag around. A combination of momentum and horrible luck caused the bag to bump my head and knock me off balance.

  With a small scream, I tripped over someone’s handbag which wasn’t safely tucked under the seat in front of them. I landed awkwardly next to the mother and her screaming offspring.