Chapter Twenty
Twenty
“Harold, you lunatic! What were you thinking? It’s nearly ninety out.”
I’m so happy to see Miguel that I’m not even concerned that his hands are balled into fists and he’s walking a lot faster than normal. Besides, while he may holler on rare occasions, he’s as scary as a garden snake.
He kneels over me on the pavement. “You’re the weirdest dog, you really are. I thought your runaway days were behind you. Are you trying to pull a JMB on me? Are you all right?”
Better than I was a few minutes ago, though that’s not saying much; perhaps sprinting wasn’t my most evolved idea.
Miguel opens the door, and I force myself onto my paws.
My legs are trembling as I make my way into the bookstore.
Dane, who’s at the register, sees me and grabs his water bottle from the counter.
“Here you go, bud,” he says to me, holding the bottle over my mouth.
“Sorry I didn’t see you out there sooner. ”
“I can grab his bowl from the back,” Miguel tells him.
“Dude, he’s wilting! Time is of the essence!” Dane says as I greedily gulp. Is there anything better than a cool stream of water on a hot day to remind you of how good it is to be alive? I think not.
“Thanks, but that’s disgusting,” says Miguel, because I did just lick the bottle.
Dane shrugs. “Their tongues are super clean. I read it online.”
I bathe my bottom with my mouth, so I’m not too sure about his sources. But I rub against his leg in gratitude.
“Welcome, Harold,” he tells me.
“Dog, are you okay?” says Miguel, kneeling beside me. “You look like you need to rest.”
That’s an understatement, but I just stick my tongue out farther and wait for him to appreciate the ambience.
“Since I’m downtown, I do need to run over to the accountant really quick,” he tells Dane. “Do you mind watching Harold? Just call me if he seems like he’s struggling.”
He’s leaving so soon? But he just got here! And yet again, my plans have failed.
“On it, chief,” says Dane.
“Thanks. By the way, I fed him before we left, so don’t let him trick you into giving him more food.”
Food? I’m still so winded that eating sounds as fun as licking sand. So, I go find my usual spot in the sun on the braided rug. I’m about to doze off when I hear someone whispering.
“Shhh! Harry, over here!”
Dare I trust my ears? Actually, I don’t have to—because my nose has just picked up on a now-familiar shampoo scent.
It worked!
My conjuring worked, and Amelia Mae is here, in Michigan, in our bookstore! I leap to my feet, ignoring the fact that my hips are on fire, and rush to the reading nook.
She’s slouched in the yellow chair, holding a book in front of her face. She lowers the book when she sees me. “Harry, I’ve been waiting for you! Not too long, though, so thanks for that.”
But how?
“I hopped on the train right after Fiona dropped me off for camp,” she explains.
“Union Station’s not far from the drama center, and turns out they’ll sell a ticket to anyone with a note written in careful cursive.
Anyways, it was a fast ride, and I sat next to a nice old woman who gave me part of her cookie.
Course, we’re not going to tell that to Fiona, who’ll worry I got poisoned.
But I could tell that the woman was just lonely and wanted to make her feel a little better.
She said I should read Shirley Jackson sometime. ”
I’m so excited that I’ve begun pacing back and forth in front of her without even realizing it.
“You’re sweet, Harry. You know why I’m here, right?”
I cock my head and wait for her to explain.
“Obviously, I’m lonely and I missed you.
That’s reason enough—but also, Fiona’s been miserable.
She’s stopped journaling in her zillion notebooks, and she got in another huge argument with Uncle Jon.
They’re always on the same page, so this is bad news.
I told her we needed to come to Michigan, and she said no, not right now.
Between us, I think this is about more than Uncle Jon—though she does hate the highway.
I’m positive she’s lonely and Miguel made her realize that, deep down.
Now we just gotta bring it to the surface. ”
Fiona’s lonely, too? I don’t want to be pleased about that, but I can’t help it. Not when she might just need Miguel as much as he needs her.
She continues, “I had to take matters into my own hands. The minute Fiona learns I’m here, she’ll come running.
Er, driving. Which is good for her, since she needs to work on her hang-up about highways.
And then we’ll let these two imbeciles take it from there.
” She pats the ground in front of me, and I sit at her feet.
“Perfect,” she says. “Let me read to you for a while until they figure out what we’re up to. ”
She begins, but she hasn’t made it through the chapter when I hear Riley call me, and I leap back onto my paws. Oh, good—Riley’s a rule follower, and certain to rat on us.
“Hello there,” says Amelia Mae, glancing up from her book. “You must be Riley; Miguel told my mom about you. Great bookstore you have here. At least as good as the couple near me in Chicago. Maybe even better.”
“Thank you…” Riley says cautiously as she examines her. “Is your mom here with you now?”
“Nope. But according to the states of Michigan and Illinois, it’s perfectly acceptable for a person of my age to be alone for reasonable amounts of time. And in case you’re wondering, I’m almost twelve, and they don’t define ‘reasonable.’ ”
Riley’s eyebrows shoot up. “That may be, but does your mom know you’re reading The Dark Half?”
Amelia Mae lifts her chin to challenge her. “She doesn’t need to. We Fosters don’t believe in literary limitations. What you make of a book is about you—not whether it’s ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ ” she says, making air quotes.
“You’re precocious!”
“No,” she says sternly. “I’m not precocious, and I’m not gifted, either. I just read a lot.”
Riley laughs. “Your point.”
“Thank you!” Her smile fades. “Sometimes I annoy the kids at school. But Harry actually likes to listen to me. That’s why I just took a train around the lake to get to this place. I’m Amelia Mae, by the way.”
Riley has grown very still.
“I know that’s weird that I have the same name as the woman who owned this bookstore, but let’s call it a coincidence. Just like Uncle Jon being gone when Miguel and his friend Dane showed up at our house, which led to him hitting it off with my mom.”
“Wait, you’re—”
“Fiona Foster’s daughter,” she offers. “Who’s the sister of Miguel’s favorite author, Jonathan Middleton-Biggs. Aka my Uncle Jon, aka the no-show.”
“I see.” Riley pauses, then says cautiously, “Is your mother in town here with you?”
“Nope.” Her hair flies back and forth as she shakes her head. “That’s the whole reason I’m here. She hates anything she thinks is even sort of unsafe for me, and somehow traveling to Michigan made the list. So, I decided to help her rip off the Band-Aid and get over it.”
“Oh, my word,” says Riley, agog. “You do know I’m going to have to call Miguel so he can call your mother, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I guess I’m somewhat relieved to know this is intentional. Can I trust you to stay put?”
“Obviously,” says Amelia Mae with a hint of amusement. “I’m here until Fiona is. And hopefully after that, too.”
“Well, good. Harold, please keep your new friend company while I go sort this out.”
Yes, she is my new friend. And having a new friend never gets old, even if the same cannot be said of me.
“Ruh-roh, Harry,” she whispers as she watches Riley walk to the counter. “I have a feeling it’s about to get real around here.”
“Yep,” I hear Riley say as she cradles the phone between her shoulder and ear. “For about ten, fifteen minutes, maybe? I don’t know, but it couldn’t have been that long.” Her eyes dart to us as she listens to whatever Miguel is telling her. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yep, that’s her. Okay…thanks, boss.”
She hangs up the phone, then calls to us, “You two, don’t go anywhere until Miguel arrives. He’s going to call your mom.”
“Miguel,” says Amelia Mae, rolling her eyes at me.
“Dum-dum needed me to disappear just to pick up the phone and call her. Sorry, Harry—I don’t mean to say mean things about your owner.
The good news is, once they get here, I’m going to insist we stay awhile.
I packed extra clothes.” She points to the backpack next to the chair, then winks and adds, “I’ll even cry if I have to. ”
My Amelia was clever like that. When she told people how she became a writer, she’d talk about only being allowed to read religious material growing up.
“I’m exaggerating, mostly,” she’d say with a grin.
“But don’t you know, the Song of Solomon was my gateway drug to Johanna Lindsey and Judith Krantz. The rest is herstory.”
Oh, how I miss her.
But the other Amelia has decided that I’m too far away and has put her legs right next to my body and begun reading aloud to me again. And even though it doesn’t make me miss my Amelia any less, I still somehow feel better.
I just hope Fiona’s arrival will make Miguel feel that way, too.