Chapter 21
Twenty-One
I just cried because I ran out of coffee creamer. So I don’t think I’ll survive the apocalypse.
—Constance to Odin
Constance
Dropping Wendy off at school the next day was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life.
I wanted to keep her at home with me, but Wendy wouldn’t hear of it.
She was the most aggravating kid on the planet.
Always “school is necessary” and “being on time is nonnegotiable,” not “let’s skip and have a girl day.”
What kind of kid had I raised?
Yesterday had been wild.
And I hadn’t had much time to process all that I’d learned.
Odin was the reason I’d moved here.
The grumpy man had literally saved my child’s life, and he hadn’t shared with me.
Last night, I hadn’t had much time to talk to him.
He’d been called away for work stuff almost immediately after Wendy had been discharged to go home, two stitches above her eye and two on her wrist.
“Do you think, maybe, you can bring me lunch?”
The way Wendy batted her eyes at me made me want to laugh.
Where had she even learned that?
“I think I might be able to do that,” I said. “You eat at ten thirty, right?”
She nodded excitedly.
I looked at my watch.
Eight o’clock.
“Hop out, baby girl,” I said. “It’s time to go inside.”
I’d talked myself out of walking her inside.
One, because Wendy wouldn’t want me to. She liked being considered a “big girl.”
And two, because if I walked in with her, I might not leave.
I trusted the school.
They’d done everything that they should have.
It wasn’t their fault that there were sick individuals in the world.
“Love you, Coco.”
I sighed. “Love you, too, daughter.”
She hopped out, and a teacher instantly latched onto her hand, protective to the core.
I breathed out a long, drawn-out breath and waited until they were all the way inside with the doors closed behind them before I drove away.
I didn’t go home, though.
First, I drove past the man’s house that never seemed to stray far from my mind.
Not finding him there, I drove past his office and still didn’t spot him.
The next stop was Hopps, where I’d seen him eating breakfast that one day.
When I still didn’t find him there, I got frustrated.
I had no way to contact the damn frustrating man.
So I drove back to his house and slapped a note on the door, written on the back of a receipt.
It would be nice to be able to get a hold of you, loser. How am I supposed to do that without your number?
I left my number at the bottom of the receipt, unsigned.
Then started back toward my car.
I was most of the way there when a man caught my eye.
I waved at the tattooed biker and kept marching toward my car.
Maybe he would share that I was here with his friend.
Bernice from The Mercantile was checking her mail when I got to my car door.
I waved at her and dropped down into my car, angry.
I wanted to see him.
I wanted to talk to him.
I wanted to kiss him.
Angry, I put the car in Drive and drove home.
When I turned onto my street, a familiar looking person was running down it.
Dr. Pendelton’s kid.
I wondered what on earth he was doing, but figured he was a runner based on his ridiculously bright and ugly looking tennis shoes.
He was sweating, and he looked focused, didn’t even acknowledge me as I passed.
Which I was thankful for, because every time I saw him now he creeped me the hell out.
And I saw him everywhere.
The store. The library. Skating down the road in town. Always with that damn snake around his neck like it was an accessory.
I wondered how the hell he got any work done when he was out and about as much as he was. Dr. Pendelton said his son was still in high school. Surely the homeschooling schedule wasn’t this lax. I’m sure he still has classes if he was even still going to school.
When I got home, I helped my mother with the animals while Dad went into Bozeman and did a huge supply run.
I kept my phone on me every single second as I waited for the other shoe to drop.
“You okay?” Mom asked quietly.
I nodded jerkily.
“You don’t seem okay,” she pointed out.
I pursed my lips.
Mom laughed. “Talk to me, baby girl.”
I’d told her everything last night about Odin.
Mom hadn’t been surprised. Neither had Dad.
Which frustrated me because it’d taken me completely by surprise.
I wasn’t mad, per se. But I was frustrated that he could’ve shared and didn’t.
Though maybe I was more mad about not being able to get a hold of him this morning than I was about him not telling me he was my daughter’s “dealer” so to speak.
Tires on gravel sounded, and my mother patted my hand. “You finish up the pens, and I’ll go see who that is.”
I was halfway done with exchanging out soiled pads for clean ones when the silence registered.
Giving the baby otter a little pat on the behind, I closed his cage and headed outside to see where my mother was.
She was standing at the edge of the fenced-off part of the rehab facility that we always kept locked, whether we were in the rehab facility or not.
“What is it?” I asked.
She stepped to the side, and I blinked when I saw two very angry looking dogs foaming at the mouth, growling at the gate, and looking like they’d very much like to kill us if we opened said gate.
“I tried opening the gate, and they went for my hand.” She winced, confirming my earlier thoughts. “I think we should stay in this gate until we can get help.”
I tried reaching for the gate myself, and the dogs went ballistic, biting at the gate and throwing their bodies against it.
“What on earth?” I asked.
With them guarding the gate, we were stuck.
We wouldn’t be able to get out anytime soon.
The dogs were quite big and wouldn’t be able to be moved easily, either.
“I came out here just in time to see the truck drive off,” she said. “There is a note pinned to this one’s collar. But I can’t quite read it.”
I pulled out my phone and checked my dad’s location.
“Dad’s still in Bozeman,” I said. “Even if he came home now, we’d be stuck in here for two hours.” I placed both of my hands on my hips. “I was supposed to bring Wendy lunch today, dang it.”
My mother picked up her phone.
“Who are you calling?” I asked.
I mean, besides the police, I wouldn’t really know who to call. I didn’t think that Bear Pass or Sawtooth even had a dog catcher.
I hadn’t lived here long enough to make many friends. And the one person I could call that I know would come I didn’t have his phone number.
Which only seemed to make me even more mad.
Mom placed the phone to her ear and said, “Margery. She can go take Wendy food. Or she’ll know someone who will. I don’t think she’s allowed to drive anymore. She’ll also know who to call for help with them.”
I looked down at the dogs.
Poor things.
They looked ragged.
The one closest to the fence was emaciated, but I could see markings on him that looked familiar.
Though I didn’t know why.
“Margery, hi. It’s Janet.”
I stepped back inside.
If I wasn’t going to be able to get out anytime soon, I might as well make myself useful by cleaning up some more.