Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
ZOE
The wind tore down Oak Way, ripping blossoms from the cherry trees. Pale pink petals scattered in the air, plastering wet against the pavement before floating into the flooded street. The storm drains couldn’t keep up. Water rose fast, swirling in dark eddies around the curbs.
Zoe had known something was wrong the moment she came home and the apartment stayed silent. Whiskers hadn’t been there to greet her, which was not like her in the slightest. Zoe had been gone for five hours at least. There’s no way Whiskers wouldn’t be starving by her standards.
Lightning cracked across the sky, flooding the flower shop windows with a blinding flash. Thunder followed closely, shaking the glass. Jackson was on his way, but Zoe couldn’t wait.
She shoved on her boots, tugged on her coat, and snatched the tin of treats.
Stepping out the front door, the wind blew her hood back. Rain pelted her face. But Zoe pressed on.
“Whiskers! Whiskers! Where are you?” she called, her voice carried away with the wind.
Zoe ducked behind the flower shop first, her phone’s weak beam of light barely cutting through the sheets of rain. She pushed through the narrow space between buildings, scanning the low bushes where trash collected in wet clumps. Nothing.
“Whiskers!” Her voice cracked, carried away on the wind.
She moved on, stooping to peer behind the row of trash cans lined against the brick wall, sweeping her light across doorways. Her jeans clung to her legs, soaked through to the skin, and her hair slapped wetly against her cheeks.
“Come on, sweetheart… where are you?”
The storm swallowed her words.
Her throat was raw now, hoarse from calling over and over, but she couldn’t stop.
She lifted her phone higher, the beam bouncing off slick bark and wet leaves as she scanned the trees.
Branches swayed wildly, creaking against one another in the wind.
Her heart thudded with each flash of lightning, expecting to see the glint of eyes staring back at her.
Nothing.
Her socks squished inside her boots, water seeping through. She slowed, shoulders sagging. Hope was slipping, drop by drop.
And then she remembered.
Last summer. Mrs. Bishop holding the shop door open too long while a delivery came in. Whiskers slipping out, silent as a shadow. Zoe had been frantic that day, combing the alleys until her legs ached. She’d thought she’d lost her for good.
But Whiskers hadn’t been lost at all. She’d been perched high in a tree by the lake chirping and meowing at a family of ducks below. Zoe had spotted her finally, tail flicking, golden eyes locked on her feathery prey.
If there was anything Whiskers loved more than kibble, it was birds.
Zoe straightened, rain running down her neck. The park. The ducks. Maybe Whiskers had gone back there. The thought lit a spark in her chest, faint but enough to push her forward again.
She texted Jackson quickly—Heading to the community park by the lake—and then she clutched the can of treats tighter and turned toward the waterfront, boots splashing through the rising water.
Whitecaps rolled across the small inland lake, the storm churning its normally calm surface into someplace Zoe didn’t recognize. If there had been ducks earlier, they’d long since vanished, tucked away somewhere safe and dry.
“Whiskers!” Zoe’s voice was hoarse now, nearly gone from shouting. “Whiskers, baby, come on!” She rattled the can of treats, but the sound was lost to the wind and the pounding rain. Her hair clung in wet ropes against her face, her coat heavy against her frame.
She pushed through the park grass, which had already turned to a slick carpet of puddles. Each flash of lightning illuminated the trees around her, stark and skeletal against the sky. Thunder cracked seconds later, so loud it rattled in her bones.
“Please,” she whispered, blinking against the rain, “just come out…”
But only the storm answered back.
Then the world split open. A blinding flash of lightning struck across the lake, and with it came the sharp, splintering crack of a tree giving way.
Zoe froze, eyes wide, as a massive branch split from its trunk and came crashing down, slamming into the earth with a force that made the ground beneath her shake.
Her instincts screamed—Move!
Zoe lunged up the bank, boots slipping against the sucking mud. Her foot skidded sideways, and before she could catch herself, her ankle twisted. Pain shot up her leg, stealing her breath. She collapsed hard onto her knees, the shock of it rattling through her bones.
“No… not again…” Her voice broke.
She planted a trembling palm in the mud, dragging herself forward an inch at a time. Each movement set fire through her ankle, but she refused to stop. She clawed her way up the slick slope, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
She made it over to the bench, and gingerly turned her ankle from side to side. Worst timing ever, she thought.
She thought about giving up. Thought about just collapsing onto the bench, praying the storm would pass and her ankle would miraculously fix itself, but headlights cut through the rain, blinding and bright.
A familiar shape. Jackson’s farm truck.
The truck skidded to a halt. Jackson was out in seconds, rain sheeting off his shoulders as he sprinted toward her.
Zoe blinked against the glare, half sob, half laugh breaking from her chest. She raised a hand weakly. “I’ve hurt my ankle again—and I can’t find Whiskers!” she yelled.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, scooping her into his arms before she could protest.
For once, she didn’t try. She let herself fold into him, clinging to the safety of his hold, knowing she was useless in her current state.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she managed through clenched teeth.
“You said that before,” Jackson muttered, tightening his grip as he carried her toward the truck.
Back inside, they were both soaked, jeans and coats sticking to them like second skin. The heater roared, but Zoe still shivered so violently her teeth clattered. She couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or the panic clawing at her chest. Tears slipped, hot and stinging.
“I’m a horrible pet parent,” she whispered.
Jackson reached over and took her hand, his palm steady and warm against hers. “You’re not a bad pet parent. If anything, Whiskers is a bad cat for running off. Don’t beat yourself up. She’s smart. She’ll be fine.”
The rain had eased by the time they pulled up to her building, but the streets were rivers, gutters spilling over. Jackson rounded the truck, lifted her again with effortless strength, and carried her across the puddled sidewalk. Up the stairs. Through the door of the flower shop.
And all she could do was pray she’d find Whiskers there.