Chapter 7 #2
“Pout-Pout.” Ollie takes off back to his bedroom to retrieve his fish.
“Go potty, too?” I holler after him.
I unhook Frankie from her booster seat, then open the door to let Grover in, but he’s not there. I peek my head out and scan the backyard. “Grover! Come.” He doesn’t appear.
“Mama, I p-p-peed on the wall. ”
My body slumps. “Really?” I want to melt into the floor. “Hurry. I’ll clean it later.”
“Mama, can I take my p-plane on the bus, too?” Ollie holds out his small metal biplane, and I notice his shoes are on the wrong feet.
“Quick. Switch your shoes. We’ve got to find Grover.”
He plops on the floor and un-Velcro’s his shoes. I slip Frankie’s coat and shoes on while she tries to grab a pink spatula from the utensil canister.
With her on my hip, I step outside, scanning the backyard again. The gate stands open a foot.
Shit ! Of course this would happen today.
“Hurry, bud.”
Ollie pops up, holding his fish and plane.
We circle the house with Ollie’s plane doing loop de loops as we conduct our search.
“Grover!”
The crisp swish of leaves sounds as I trudge to the front yard. I stop, listening and glancing up and down the street. My stomach bottoms out at the thought of him being lost.
“Grover!” Ollie yells, standing on the porch steps.
I stop at the sidewalk, switching Frankie to the other hip.
“Grover!” You little shit. “If you get hit, I’ll kill you.”
“Everything ok?”
I spin, and a middle-aged man with short blond hair stands at the end of my driveway, holding a tiny brown dog with a long, pointy snout and floppy ears. The man’s eyes are wide, like he’s waiting with anticipation.
“Our dog got loose,” I say, peering past him and hoping to see furry movement. I don’t see his fawn fluff anywhere.
“Does he have an ID collar and chip?” The man takes a few steps closer, ready to assist, a slight smile showing off crooked teeth, while his dog snarls. His eyes flick to Ollie behind me, spitting plane noises and running in circles. “I’m Brandon.” His hand pops out from under the dog. “I live—”
“Go home, Brandon!”
My eyes jet to Slade marching across the street.
Brandon twists at the growled command and takes two steps backward. “I was just offering to help.”
“She doesn’t need your help, so go home.” Slade barges right past him, and his tall, broad body stops beside me on the sidewalk. He’s a human barricade not to be crossed.
I stare up at him, and the thick hair curling out from under his hat, those fierce green eyes glaring at Brandon.
“Good morning, Rory.” I just can’t help myself.
His gaze flicks to me.
Brandon scoffs. “You know, you’re a—”
“Careful,” Slade warns, his eyes moving to Ollie, who’s still as a statue.
“Guys, this is real fun, but I need to find my dog.”
I leave them to their testosterone feud, holding out my hand for Ollie to take. I adjust my arm under Frankie to lift her a little higher.
“What about the b-b-bus?” Ollie asks.
“We’ve got to find Grover first.”
I watch Brandon slug back across the street to his house, which I note is next to Slade’s.
“Do you know which way he went?” Slade asks, and I turn toward him.
I shake my head. “The gate must have come unlatched. He never runs, but he probably chased after a rabbit.”
Ollie stares up at Slade, his plane momentarily grounded.
“Does he have a name?”
“It’s Grover,” Ollie states.
Slade’s bearded chin dips to look at Ollie. “Grover?” he asks as if he needs clarification.
Ollie nods .
“Like the furry blue Muppet?”
Ollie smiles widely and nods.
“He’s a Goldendoodle. He’s smart but not familiar with this area.”
“You need a coat, so stay here,” he orders me. His gaze falls to Frankie, who’s leaning over my arm in an attempt to escape to the ground where she can practice walking. “I’ll get my truck and see—”
“Anybody looking for this guy?”
A female voice comes from behind us, and I turn to see a woman being pulled by my dog. She’s wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, and her short, dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s young and beautiful, with blue eyes that sparkle.
“Grover!” Ollie runs toward him, and Grover pulls against her petite frame even harder.
The woman releases his collar, and the two boys meet. Ollie throws his arms around the massive furball’s neck.
“He was down the street and around the corner, sniffing a light pole.”
“Thank you.” It rushes out along with my relief.
“I’m Krissy. This ogre’s sister.” She tips her head in Slade’s direction. “I’m kind of bummed. I was hoping we could keep him.” She grins up at Slade, who remains deadpan. “He never let me get a dog.”
“I don’t know. He seems like a cat guy to me.” I glance up at him.
“Ya know.” Her finger taps her lips, her eyes growing wide. “You’re right. One of those long-haired fluff balls.”
Slade’s weight shifts, and I think I hear a soft groan.
I smile. “The kind that would drape itself all over him. I bet he’s a big, cuddly kitty underneath that thick layer of detest for all happy, snuggly things.”
Krissy’s mouth falls open. “Yes, and—”
“Mama. The b-bus?” Ollie points, and I hear the puff of the brakes as it stops two blocks down.
I check the time on my phone, avoiding the giant’s gaze beside me .
“You were taking the bus?”
I close my eyes, inhaling long and deep. “I was, but now . . .”
“Yeah. That’s not a great idea,” Krissy says softly. “I work in the ER, and there have been incidents lately. Usually at night, but still.”
My shoulders slump, and I finally give in, letting Frankie down. I grip her hands as she wobbles, working one foot forward and then the other.
Grover barks at Ollie, kicking leaves in the air.
“What’s the deal with Brandon?” I gesture across the street, distracting them from the bus conversation.
“Brandon was over?” Krissy rolls her eyes. “Did you tell him to take his wiener and go home? He sits in his driveway and watches everyone’s comings and goings. If you need something, the guys are over all the time.” She throws her thumb over her shoulder toward their house. “Come get one of them.”
I glance at Slade out of the corner of my eye.
Krissy squats to Frankie’s level. “How old are they?”
“Ollie’s five, and this is Frankie. She’s thirteen months.”
She tugs Frankie’s coat down and out of her face. “I usually work nights, but if you ever need a sitter, let me know.”
“Thanks,” I say, inching forward.
“Where were you going?” Slade’s gruff voice cuts in.
Crap. He’s still gnawing on the bus thing.
I glance at him over my shoulder, not needing a lecture. “I just needed to grab a few groceries,” I offer confidently.
“Oh, that’s perfect, then.” Krissy stands. “Slade was heading to the grocery store to pick up snacks.” She swats him on the shoulder with the back of her hand, smiling brightly as if she solved one of the world’s problems.
Slade glares at her, but she only smiles, completely ignoring him.
“He’s a real joy to shop with. Stops to chat with all the old ladies and swap recipes.”
His head rolls back toward the sky as if begging for help .
“Oh, that’s ok.” I jump in, needing to stop this in its tracks. “I’m sure Slade has better things to do, like perfecting his scowl and working to breathe fire out of his nostrils.”
Krissy’s head tips back, and laughter tumbles out. “You know, when I was a teen, I caught him—”
“Krissy,” Slade growls a warning.
She grins.
I need to tiptoe right out of this little situation. “Thank you for offering, but—”
“Oh no, he’s going anyway. You can’t take the bus.
” She glances at him, waiting for him to agree, but he remains silent.
She continues unaffected by his apparent annoyance.
“Careful, though. The idea of dropping a sugary treat in his cart sends him into a spiraling meltdown of how processed sugar affects your body.”
She pats him on the shoulder. “He’ll be glad to help out.”
“Kris,” he states as if daring her to say one more word.
“Ok, well, off to bed.” She turns for their house. “I have to work tonight, warden, but meeting the doc for a quick . . .” She trails off, making her way across the street.
Slade runs a hand over his face as if he’s pulling himself back from the brink of mass internal destruction.
“I really like her,” I say, swinging Frankie back to my hip.
“She never stops,” he grumbles.
“Hey, thanks for stopping over.” I whip a finger pistol at him and start backing toward the house, needing him to get on with his day.
The idea of grocery shopping with him makes my stomach quiver and roll.
“Come on, bud.” I wave to Ollie, saying a silent prayer that he comes willingly without mentioning the B-word again.
“Sarah.” It’s bellowed in that commanding way.
I have to bite my tongue to suppress the desire to ruffle his fabricated calm facade.
I halt my retreat, fully aware of those bright green eyes searing into me from underneath the rim of his hat .
“I’ll be over in five to load the car seats.” He turns, not giving me even a second to respond.
I watch his big body stalk back across the street while my own fills with absolute dread for what’s ahead.
Frankie rests her head on my shoulder.
Ollie’s hand slips into mine. “Mama, can we s-still ride the bus?”
I inhale and let it out. There is absolutely no bright side to any of this. It’s just a dark, gloomy, never-ending suck fest.
I turn for the house. “What do you think about a big truck instead?”