Utter chaos was what I saw as I came down the driveway. Rosie was outside, in her nightie, but there was a big, brown mark on the front like something terrible had happened. Running around in circles at her feet, making a figure eight around the big old oak tree, was Cupcake. Her ears were straight up, and she was barking like crazy. My first thought was raccoon, but then my second thought was, in the daytime? I threw my truck into park and followed Rosie’s gaze. High in the oak, I saw Julia Caesar, clinging to a branch that was bowing dangerously under her weight. I honestly didn’t know what would happen if she fell. She wasn’t exactly a model of feline grace and beauty. Maybe it was just a question of physics—could a sphere right itself in midair?

“What happened!” I called out to Rosie as I slammed my truck door. “Did you get sick?”

Rosie cocked her head. “What!”

I pointed at her nightie, at the big, brown splotch that was over her lap.

“No! That’s coffee! There’s been a bit of drama!” she hollered over Cupcake’s yaps and barks and a weird monkey-like squeal that I’d only ever heard on Planet Earth.

“Clearly!” I hollered back.

Rosie made a move to grab Cupcake, but she was too quick, and Rosie was slow in her bare feet. Cupcake sprinted around the trunk and then put her two tiny front paws on the massive old oak—it was like an illustration Rosie did once of an ant looking up a chair leg. But Cupcake didn’t care how far away Julia was. There was a cat. In the tree. Which was a huge problem that everybody needed to know about.

I put two fingers in my mouth and let out a whistle, the whistle guys on the docks used, or like people would use to call a horse. For one brief instant, Cupcake’s yaps went quiet, and she stared at me, still with her feet on the tree. Her tail wagged slowly in the sunshine.

“Oh my God, you’re amazing,” Rosie gasped. “She hasn’t stopped barking since Julia got out of our room.”

Our room! Fuck me. But focus, Max. Focus. I crouched down and opened my arms wide. “Hey, little lady! Come to Daddy!”

As I said the word, Rosie squeaked and pressed her hand to her heart, like she was going to faint. But it had worked, and Cupcake charged for me, ears back, tail wagging, and scrunching herself up with full-body wiggles. I lifted Cupcake up in my arms, while she slathered my face with kisses. Before she remembered that the cat was still in the tree, I headed back into the house. Rosie trotted along beside me, her steps unsure on gravel, like she was walking over hot coals.

“Max! We can’t leave her in the tree!” She plucked along on her tiptoes and looked back at the big oak. “She’ll die out there! She’ll be eaten by bears or, or…” Rosie gasped, “…lured away by a stranger with the promise of a ham sandwich!”

“Don’t worry, beautiful,” I told her as I got both her and Cupcake safely inside the house and closed the door. I pulled out my phone, but it was stone dead. “Let me use your computer a second, okay?” I handed Cupcake over to her. Rosie bounced the dog in her arms like she was trying to burp her. In that moment, I totally understood why people say, Dogs are great practice for kids. Copy that, 100%. And sign me the fuck up.

“Computer is on my desk. Password is…” She trailed off and stared at me, mouth slightly open, blush lighting up her cheeks. I could tell she was embarrassed, by her quick blinks, but she didn’t look away. “All lowercase, one word.”

I lifted my eyebrow. “Which is?”

She answered, “maxmax.”

Fuck. Fuck.

* * *

While Rosie distracted Cupcake with her miniature stuffed hedgehog, ice cubes, slices of apple, and this adorable thing where she made a walking puppet with her index and middle finger, I opened up Rosie’s laptop and typed in maxmax.

On the home screen was a digitized version of the snails floating to the moon, with bits of popcorn falling from the basket, so fucking adorable that it damn near made me groan out loud. But somehow, I managed to keep that particular moment of total unmanliness at bay and opened up her browser. I typed, How do you get a cat out of a tree? into the search bar.

They suggested putting a ladder up or a plank. I glanced outside. Fuck, that’d be some ladder, never mind a plank. Same problem for the second option—try to shoo it away with a broom or a towel? I watched Julia bob precariously on her too-thin branch. She had to be thirty feet up. Towels and brooms weren’t gonna cut it either.

But then, option three. Google had done me a solid. There it was. I skimmed my eyes over the words to make sure I had the gist. It would be tricky, but it was worth a shot. “Hey, did your grandma use a cat carrier for Julia?” I asked Rosie.

She nodded as she walked her finger puppet up Cupcake’s tiny front leg, and Cupcake nibbled playfully on her knuckles. “In the closet. She actually really likes it. I find her in there after I’ve used the blender,” Rosie said. She stood up from her crouch. Under the very edge of her nightie, I saw a row of bruises on her thigh, from where I’d held on to her as I had my way with her.

Jesus.

I turned to look out at the tree again. The branch was still bobbing, curved almost in a semicircle. But there were parallel branches, almost even with her. It wouldn’t be easy, but it just might work. If there wasn’t enough rope in the barn, I could always run down to the docks. One way or another, we’d get her out of there. Even if I had to use a ham sandwich to do it.

Game on. Operation Rescue Julia was in full force. But just as I was closing up Rosie’s laptop, a new email message popped up in the corner as an alert. My eyes landed on it, just out of pure reflex, not because I wanted to snoop. I saw the words Ms. Madden and congratulations and your submission to our publishing house.

For a second, I stared in disbelief at the gray box. In my gut, I knew I shouldn’t click on it. I absolutely, under no circumstances, should be reading her emails. I was not that guy. But those words on the alert—a classic case of the moth to the flame. My finger moved on the mouse, and the arrow hovered over the message. I read the preview and reread it. Even from half a sentence, I knew this was big news. My heart was absolutely exploding with happiness for her, and I couldn’t help myself. With a single click, the message was on the screen.

Dear Ms. Madden,

Thank you for taking the time to submit your portfolio to us. Our editorial board has reviewed your work, and we would like to offer you a position as an in-house illustrator for Magnusson Publishing, as an associate illustrator for our children’s imprint, Gray Moose Books. Find the starting salary and benefits described on the following page. We look forward to meeting you next week.

Sincerely,

Samantha Poindexter

Acquiring Editor, Gray Moose Books

I wanted so badly to flip the computer around and tell her the news, to prove to her that what I’d always told her was true. That she was crazy fucking talented, and that one day, the world would see it, too. Now the world had seen it, and it was just sitting in her inbox for her to see, too. But I didn’t want to steal her thunder. I wanted her to have the same heart-bursting joy that I was having. I never wanted to take anything from her, especially not this. So with a few clicks, I marked the message as unread and closed up the windows to cover my tracks. She came back into the living room as I was putting her closed laptop on the coffee table. It took all my strength to keep the shit-eating grin off my face.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” I told her as I took the cat carrier from her, as well as a can of SPAM from the pantry, and headed outside.