11. Chapter 11
In the Polaroid, his parents were grinning ghosts, leading the way to a graying farmhouse, faded red barn, and half a dozen crumbling outbuildings.
Jase didn’t think twice about walking up the driveway until a mass of thick black hair and pointed teeth came barreling down the porch steps in their direction.
“Whoa.” He reached for Sundress but she was running toward the snarling beast with outstretched arms and not an ounce of self-preservation. “Wait!”
What was probably a dog the size of a small horse reached her first, taking her to the ground with its gigantic paws. She shrieked and Jase readied his fists to pry her out of its jaws.
Only the monster dog wasn’t tearing her apart. It was smothering her in slobbery kisses. Noticing Jase, the beast let out a chesty bark and tackled him in a single bound, pinning him to the ground.
Lindsey brushed herself off and rushed over. “What do I do?”
Jase afraid—and unable—to move, barely choked out, “Get help.”
She scanned the empty farmyard, then moved to grab the dog. “If you just—”
The weight on his chest crushed the air out of his lungs. “Don’t touch it!”
“Tiny!” a voice called behind them. Jase strained around the dog to see a rail-thin man who might’ve been sixty or a hundred, drowning in dirty overalls and a ratty baseball cap, scuttling down the porch steps. “Tiny!”
“The dog’s name is Tiny,” Lindsey whispered.
“What are you kids doing on my property?” the man barked.
“Can you call off your dog?”
“Please,” Jase wheezed.
“Depends. You’re not magazine salesmen, are you? I told the last guy I’m quite happy with Reader’s Digest and only Reader’s Digest, and I meant it.”
“We’re not salesmen.”
“You from the co-op?”
“What’s a co-op?”
“Looking for political donations? If so, you should know what happened last—”
“We’re not,” she insisted. “Please.”
The man studied them for a moment more and nodded to the dog. “Tiny, come!”
The black behemoth backed off Jase’s body with a bark and trotted to his master’s side.
“It’s a beautiful dog,” Lindsey said, helping Jase to his feet.
“That’s not a fucking dog,” Jase rasped through injured lungs.
“He’s a Great Pyrenees,” the man said. “If you’re not selling and you’re not from the co-op, what are you doing walking up my driveway, scaring Tiny here?”
“We scared him?” Jase brushed the dust off the back of his jeans and cleared his throat. “Are you Mr. Pederson?”
“Depends. Who’s asking?”
He scraped the Polaroid out of the dirt. “Do you remember these people?”
The man clutched the photo in his knobby fingers. “What do you want with these folks?”
“Do you know them?”
“Of course! I’m not so old I forgot the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” Tiny barked in opposition. His owner gave the dog a knowing look and asked Jase, “What’s it to you?”
“I—I’m Jase,” he stammered. “Jason Young Junior. They’re my parents.”