Chapter Eleven
Eleven
Miguel drops her hand like it’s just burned his palm. “You’re—Jonathan’s sister?” he sputters.
The woman I now know to be Fiona is grinning like she swallowed something delicious. “You don’t recognize my voice?”
He shakes his head, bewildered.
“We spoke several times. I called you to set up the event, and then you called me the other day to see if I knew where he was.”
“Right. But I thought you were his…assistant?”
“I am, sort of. I help Jon with his calendar and events and whatnot. He’s a tad reclusive.”
Miguel’s eyes immediately narrow. “Too reclusive, if the other night’s any indication.”
“I know. I really am so sorry about that. As I mentioned, I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for days.” Her eyes lower and land on me. “Oh,” she says, and though the gate is still closed, she takes a big step backward.
I know that “oh,” and it’s not good.
“Sorry,” says Miguel. “Are you allergic?”
Fiona shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. I’m…not a dog person.”
What? But I just liked her!
“Harold’s not a dog,” says Miguel, and although this is patently untrue, I’m pleased by his defending me. Seeing her confusion, he says, “I mean, technically he is. But he’s…Harold.”
She’s still regarding me fearfully. “I’m sure he’s lovely. I had a bad experience, though, so…”
“Bummer. Just takes one,” says Dane. “But this li’l puppers might be the dog to help you change your mind.
I mean, look at his mug,” he says, pinching my jowls the way people do with human babies.
“This guy wouldn’t harm a soul! Unless it belonged to some creeper who was bothering you. Then he’d defend you to the death.”
“Mm,” says Fiona, who’s clearly not convinced.
“You’re sure Jonathan’s not here?” Miguel asks, looking past her.
“I wish he were. I’m just down the street, so I stopped by to water his plants and bring in his mail. Since you’re here, too, would you like something to drink?”
Personally, I’d love to be watered. But she must have just remembered I’m here because she glances nervously at me.
“I can take him to the car if you need,” Dane quickly tells Miguel.
“It’s too hot to just leave him outside, and he doesn’t really like to be alone,” Miguel explains to Fiona.
She pivots to look over her shoulder, which is when I remember the girl on the roof. Where is she, anyway? I don’t see her looking over the edge anymore. “I guess it’s okay,” she says, turning back to us. “He seems tired, and it is hot out.”
“He’s just old. Around fourteen, we think,” says Miguel. “He’s never bit anyone in the entire time I’ve had him.”
Except that poor squirrel, but I’m happy to keep that between us.
“I’m glad. Just…hold on to him?”
“Of course,” Miguel reassures her. “Thank you for the invitation—I’d really love the chance to speak with you about this situation.”
“That makes two of us. While this is a bit of a surprise, I’m glad you’re here.” She opens the door and waves us inside.
The house is new; the smell of plaster and paint competes with the perfumed air wafting from the candles in the hallway and living room. I’d love to sniff everything, but Miguel’s got me on a tight leash, and I don’t want to mess things up for him, or worse, be sent to the car.
The kitchen’s big, with a stove twice as large as ours.
The spotless surfaces tell me no one’s cooked here, or even served a bowl of cereal, in a long time.
“Wow,” says Miguel, glancing around. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes; he’s thinking about how this is what JMB sees every day before he sits down to write.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” says Fiona, gesturing to the long counter in the middle of the room.
There’s a bowl of glass fruit on one end of the counter, which is probably for the best; I once scarfed down an entire chicken after Miguel and Amelia made the mistake of mating before eating the bird he’d just pulled from the oven.
Amelia said she couldn’t help herself when he cooked for her—and apparently, neither could I.
Dane seems nervous, which is really him looking like most people normally do instead of half-asleep. I wonder if it has anything to do with Miguel’s not being so wound up for a change. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was happy to be hanging out with a stranger.
“Tea?” asks Fiona.
“I’m good, thanks,” says Dane.
“I’ll take tea if it’s not too much trouble,” Miguel tells her.
Wait, did he just accept the beverage he usually refers to as swamp water? His eyes follow Fiona as she retrieves a kettle from one of the tall cupboards and fills it, and I decide this is a stellar sign. He’s intrigued enough to stay and sip his least favorite beverage.
Then it hits me: I have identified a contender!
My elation is immediately replaced with guilt. I want to make Amelia proud. I do. I only wish she’d asked me to help him—well, with almost anything else.
Fiona sets the kettle on the stove and lights the burner, then turns to Miguel. “Again, I’m so sorry Jon didn’t show up to your event.”
Miguel leans toward her. “I appreciate that, as we’re in a bit of a pickle here.
How soon do you think JMB—er, your brother—could do a makeup event?
Our customers are incredibly unhappy, and we need to reschedule right away to reduce the number of refunds we’ll have to issue.
I don’t want to get into it too much, but the short version is that we can’t afford to pay them back. ”
She frowns. “I’m not actually sure when he’d be able to reschedule.”
“What do you mean, you’re ‘not actually sure’?”
“I mean that in the literal sense of the words I used,” she says, lifting her chin like she’s testing him. But instead of this irritating Miguel, his lips twitch upward.
Yes, that’s the way! I mean, sure, Chicago is an hour and a half from West Haven, so that’s a bit of an issue. Also, this Fiona Foster doesn’t like dogs. Still—she could be the person Amelia told me to find for him; I just know it.
“Is life imitating art?” he asks.
“Is that a Missing Person reference?” Of course, because Miguel has yapped so much about this novel, I know that the main character is haunted by his parents’ death, and after he gets dumped by his girlfriend, he heads to Europe to grieve with nothing but a backpack and a book without telling anyone where he’s disappeared to.
“Perhaps.”
She laughs, which makes his face brighten. “Well done.” The kettle begins to whistle. “Let me grab that,” she says.
I watch her as she busies herself filling two mugs with boiling water and tea bags. Fiona may be good, but there’s something she is not saying. Dane’s unusually stiff spine tells me he’s picked up on that, too.
“Here you are,” she says, passing Miguel a mug and one of those plastic bears.
“Thank you.” When he’s done emptying way too much of the bear goo into his mug, he clears his throat and sputters, “Michigan. Our bookstore. What happened?”
Fiona wraps her hands around her mug. “I wish I knew. He said he was going to go to your event, and then…he went somewhere else.”
“If you don’t know where he’s disappeared to, is there at least a way I could speak directly with him to help him understand the impact this is having on us?”
She glances toward the hallway. “I’m afraid not.”
“Is he alive?” presses Dane.
“Alive? My brother’s not dead. And he did intend to go to your store. We discussed it back in April.” Fiona’s teeth land on her bottom lip. After a moment, she adds, “I thought it was perfect for him.”
“You did?” says Miguel.
She nods. “I coordinate most of his events, and I’d heard about Lakeside from another author.
And while I’ve never run a shop myself, I know enough about the business to understand it’s hard to keep a bookstore open these days.
Jon and I, we try to support literary underdogs—not just writers, but also stores where their work is sold. ”
“With all due respect, this underdog is running out of time,” Miguel says quietly. “If I have to refund that money, I won’t be able to pay my employees next month.”
Dane stands and shakes out his legs. “Fiona, you seem chill, but let’s cut to the chase.”
“Dane—”
“Chief, I got you.” He turns back to Fiona.
“We know you and your bro had a lousy childhood. That’s why my dude here likes his book so much—he and his sister had one, too.
But judging from this crystal palace, seems like JMB’s success has made him lose touch with reality.
Otherwise, he would understand how bad this is for us. ”
Miguel clears his throat.
“No, it’s okay,” Fiona says. She pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Kitchen aside, I don’t like this place, either. I chose this neighborhood because of the schools, and this was the house Jon decided to buy so he could be close to us. And you’re right. It was crappy of him not to show.”
Miguel immediately softens. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you or him. I’ve just had a rough couple of years, and this feels like the rotten cherry on top of the mierda pie life has served me.”
Fiona chuckles lightly, and though he probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it, Miguel cracks a faint smile.
“Really, I appreciate you having us in your home when you don’t know me from Alejandro,” he tells her. “I just want to get Jonathan to come to our store like he said he would, preferably as soon as possible. I have more than a hundred people waiting for a rain date.”
“Psstt.”
Before I even cock my head, I catch a whiff of an apple-ish fragrance, maybe from shampoo. It’s her, the girl who was on the roof! She’s crouched down in the doorway, waving at me. Fortunately, Miguel’s let my leash go slack, so I slowly scoot across the tile and around the corner.
“Finally!” the girl whispers. She bends down and reaches for my collar. She smiles as her eyes move across the letters on my heart-shaped tag. “Harold!” she says, peering into my eyes. “That’s a funny name for a dog.”
I’m so dumbstruck that I just sit there drooling all over the floor.
“I’m so happy to meet you, but you’d better get back in there,” she tells me.
“My mom gets weird about dogs. Between you and me, she gets weird about everything—driving on highways, cellphone towers, even cheese puffs, which she calls fluffy food coloring disguised as sustenance. But dogs really freak her out.”
She’s petting me so softly that I don’t want to return to the kitchen, but I really do need to check on Miguel.
“I understand your frustration and promise I’d help if I could,” Fiona’s telling him as I round the corner. “But as I said, Jon doesn’t want to be found.”
“If that’s the case, then we should jet,” says Dane, frowning at Fiona. “When you finally find him, tell your brother he’s gonna be the nail in Lakeside’s coffin.”
The girl jumps over me so fast I don’t even have a chance to be startled. “Don’t say that about my uncle!” she yells, putting her fists on her hips and glowering at Dane.
Before Miguel or Dane can respond, Fiona rushes over to the girl and wraps her arms around her. “Amelia Mae!”
Instinct is my first language, so I immediately do what a dog does upon hearing his owner’s name exclaimed loudly: I start barking my mother-loving head off and zipping around the kitchen to locate her.
I’ve just circled the counter a second time, leash dragging behind me, when I run smack-dab into reality.
A name is not a person. Is not my person. That wasn’t Miguel speaking, either, and he’s the only one who regularly called Amelia by her first and last names.
I don’t know what just happened, but I don’t like it. Did my judgment fail me? It must’ve. A good person wouldn’t say a bad thing like that.
I’m not the only one who’s upset.
“Is this some kind of joke?” says Miguel, shoving off his stool. He’s not just mad; he’s a whole swarm of yellow jackets. Which is…kind of terrifying. I’ve seen him like this one other time, and in that case, Amelia’s parents had it coming.
He glares at Fiona and the girl, then turns to me and Dane. “We’re leaving. Now.”