Not today, old lady body,I grunt silently to myself.My baby girl needs me.
Okay, I need me too. And I’m notthatold. I was practically a child bride, and Junie came along shortly thereafter. And I’m in good shape.
But the bigger point—she’s right. We should have glass between us and the beast. And the bear is a bigger threat than any back twinge.
Plus, if we intend to live here as happily as I used to when I would visit as a kid, I probably need to figure out how to deal with bears.
“Oh my God, Mom, can itgo through the glass? Is that a black bear or a brown bear? What’s it eating? Why is it here?Why did you move me to a place where I’ll get eaten by a bear?”
Awesome. The window won’t budge. “It won’t—ungh—eat you—argh—on my—oof—watch. Not today, baby girl.”
“Mom.Quit calling mebaby girl. I’m not ababy, and I don’t want those to be the last words you ever say to me!”
I heft all my weight into making the old wooden window scoot down in its frame.
Nothing.
I can fix this. I can. The past sixteen years of my life were dedicated to Junie’s dad’s handyman business.
Yep. Sixteen years.
I practically rolled off the delivery table, kissed my newborn baby on the head, and said,Hand me a drill—you’ve got some loose boards in this shelving unit over my hospital bed.
The final episode of the sixth season ofDean’s Fixer Uppersaired on the Home Improvement Network not all that long ago. We spent this final season pretending everything was fine, despite the divorce proceedings going on for the entirety of taping, plus someotherthings that I don’t want to talk about.
But the point is, I’ve fixed hundreds of sticky old windows.
I know how to do this. I’m competent. I’ve been doing it for a long time. Great track record and all that.
But this one willnotmove.
Apparently much like my relationship with my daughter.
“Okay. Okay. We’ll fix this a different way.” Have I mentioned that my heart’s basically in my throat? I’m only playing brave on the outside and trying a lot of distracting self-talk on the inside so I don’t make Junie’s freak-out worse.
Did I know we might see bears if we moved here? In theory, yes.
Did I think it would happen within a week?
No. Freaking. Way.
And definitely not fifteen feet out from the old ranch-hand bunkhouse on the other side of the ranch, which is still way too close to the house that Junie and I will be living in, at least until she graduates from high school.
She wraps her arms tighter around my shoulders. “What’s it eating?”
“I don’t know, sweetie.”
I sound like my own mother, grunting as I dig my phone out of my pocket, keeping one eye on the bear, who’s not coming closer but who also isn’t leaving.
Can bears climb fences? Will it eat the neighbors’ cows?Isthat a brown bear or a black bear? Actually, where’s the small herd of cows that Uncle Tony’s tenant says were left behind?
Is this a murder bear?
Did it murder Uncle Tony’s cows?
MyI don’t know, sweetieis reallyI’m not going to tell you that that’s a cow carcass right outside my window.
Yes.
