Chapter Fourteen
Are you excited about today?”
“Yes!” Moby yells from the hallway.
“How excited?”
“So excited!”
“How excited?” Utah says.
“The most excited!” Moby yells back.
Normally, that exchange would make me roll my eyes this early in the morning. But that was before last night, when I started to like Utah as a brother again.
My father still doesn’t know I dropped out of school, so I force myself out of bed. I brush my teeth, fix my hair, put on clothes and go through the same routine I go through almost every other morning. I would just tell him the truth, but I’m not so sure I want to deal with the aftermath right now. It feels like a lifetime has been crammed into the last few days.
I’ll give it another week before I tell him. Maybe two.
Or better yet, I’ll tell him I dropped out when he finally explains why my mother is taking placebo pills.
When I walk into the kitchen, Honor and Sagan are sitting next to each other at the table. She’s laughing at something he just said, which makes me a little relieved to see her smiling. Maybe she’ll stop being so mad at me now that I’ve made up with Utah.
Or maybe not.
As soon as she sees me, her smile disappears. She refocuses her attention on the smoothie in front of her, moving her straw around.
At least Sagan smiles at me. I smile back and feel ridiculously cheesy when I do.
“Merit, taste this,” Utah says. He shoves one of his smoothies in my face and tries to stick the straw in my mouth.
“Gross,” I say, swiping his arm and the smoothie away. “I’m not tasting that crap.”
“It’s good.” He holds it out for me again. “I promise, just taste it.”
I take the smoothie and taste the damn thing. Sure enough, it tastes like someone took a bunch of vegetables, blended them together and threw tasteless vitamins in the mix. I wince and hand it back to him. “Disgusting.”
“Sucker,” Sagan says.
The back door opens and my father walks in. “Something is wrong with that dog,” he says, washing dirt off his hands. He dries them on a towel. “Has he been that lethargic since he showed up?”
I shrug. “He looked better yesterday.” I walk past him and out the back door. I can hear Sagan following me. The three of us make it to Wolfgang’s doghouse, and I kneel down and touch him on the top of his head. “Hey, buddy.”
He looks up at me with the same lack of enthusiasm he’s had since he showed up Sunday night. His tail twitches again, but he makes no effort to stand up. Or lick me.
“Has he been acting like that all week?” my dad asks.
I nod, just as my dad squats down. He runs his hand down Wolfgang’s back and it’s honestly a sight I never thought I’d see. My father and this dog . . . together again.
“I thought he was just depressed,” I say. I feel bad for not making more of a fuss about his temperament, but I don’t know anything about dogs.
“I called the vet yesterday,” Sagan says. “They said they could squeeze him in tomorrow but I don’t think he can wait that long.”
“Which vet?” my father asks.
“The one out on 30, near the Goodwill.”
“That’s close to work,” my father says. He slips his hands beneath Wolfgang. “I’ll drop him off on my way in, see if they can check him out sooner.” My father nudges his head toward the gate on the side of the house. “Merit, go open that gate so I can get him to my truck.”
I run and open the gate, then I run and open the passenger door to my father’s truck. He places Wolfgang in the passenger seat. Wolfgang doesn’t even seem to care that he’s been moved. “You think he’ll be okay?”
“I don’t know,” my Dad says. “I’ll let you know what they say.” He walks around to the driver’s side and climbs in. He begins to back out, but he stops the truck and calls me over to his window. “I forgot to give this to you the other night when you asked for it,” he says, handing me a sack. I take it from him and watch as he continues backing out of the driveway.
Once he’s gone, I look down and open the sack. Inside is a trophy. I had forgotten all about asking him for one. I pull out the trophy and it’s a statue of a tennis player.
“What’d you win this time?” Sagan asks.
I read the small plaque on the bottom of the trophy. “‘State Tennis champs, 2005.’ ”
He laughs. “You were a little child prodigy.” He walks to his car and opens the door. “You need a ride to school today?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He knows I haven’t been going to school lately. “Nice try.”
He climbs in the car. “Worth a shot,” he says, closing the door. He rolls down the window and says, “I’ll text you if I get any updates about Wolfgang from your dad.”
I nod, but then I tilt my head. “Why would he give you updates?”
“Because . . . I work for him?”
“You do?” Wow. I’m so out of the loop.
He laughs. “Did you really not know that?”
I shake my head. “I knew you had a job, but I’ve just never asked what it was.”
“Your dad gave me a job and let me move in the first day I met him. That’s why I like him so much, even though you can’t stand him most of the time.”
He looks over his shoulder and backs out of the driveway. Before he pulls onto the road, he gives me a small wave. I wave back and watch him drive off.
I don’t know how long I stand in the driveway, watching the empty road. I just feel so . . . lost? I don’t know. Nothing really makes sense this week.
I go back inside and spend the next several hours wasting time.
I mostly watch TV, but I can’t stop checking my phone for updates. I still haven’t heard from my father. I’ve only received one text and it was from my mother, asking if I’d come to the basement sometime this afternoon. I responded to her and told her I was busy. She replied with, “Okay. Maybe tomorrow.”
I know I said I was never going to the basement again, but I only said that because I was angry. I’ll visit her eventually, but right now I’m still upset with her. And my father. Still confused by how Victoria can choose to remain in such a strange marital environment.
And I still don’t know what the hell the placebo pills are for.
I hate that I have any sort of resentment in me after hearing what Sagan’s going through. But for some reason, his issues haven’t negated mine at all and I hate that. I hate that I’m still emotionally affected by the poor choices of my parents when I should be lucky that I know they’re alive. It makes me feel weak. And petty.
I kick my feet up on the kitchen table and text my father.
Me: Any word from the vet?
I wait to see if the text bubbles appear, but they don’t. I set the phone down and pull my crossword puzzle in front of me. My phone rings, so I flip it over to check the caller ID. I smile when I see it’s Sagan.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice is heavy, like he had to drag the word out.
“What’s wrong?”
He sighs into the phone. “Your father wanted me to call you. He uh . . . Wolfgang . . . he died on the way to the vet.”
I almost drop my phone. “What? How?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure it was just old age.”
I sigh and wipe away a surprising tear.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, sighing again. “I just . . . is my dad okay?”
“I’m sure he is. He did mention we might go bury him later, though. Probably at Pastor Brian’s church, so I’ll be later than usual. I’ll text you.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“See you tonight.”
I end the call and stare at my phone for a full five minutes before I move. I’m surprised I’m sad. Other than living in the yard adjacent to the dog as a kid, I’ve really only interacted with him for a few days. But the last week of that poor dog’s life was complete crap. His owner died and then he walked several miles in the rain in the middle of the night only to end up getting sick and dying in the midst of complete strangers. I’m glad they’re going to bury him on Pastor Brian’s property, though. I’m sure they’d both prefer it that way.
I don’t hear from Sagan or my father for several hours. The mood in the house is awkward at best, so I stay in my room most of the evening. Victoria doesn’t even cook, so we all eat separately.
I’m cleaning up the mess from my frozen dinner when Utah’s phone rings. He’s on the couch with Luck and Honor watching TV, but his phone is next to me on the bar.
“Who is it?” he asks from the living room.
I glance at the caller ID, but it’s not a number he has saved. “I don’t know. It’s a local number, but there’s no name.”
“Will you answer it?”
I dry my hands on a towel and reach for his phone.
“Hello?”
“Honor?”
“No, it’s Merit.”
“Merit,” my father says. “Where’s Utah?”
“He’s in the living room. What’s up?”
He sighs. “Well . . . we need someone to pick us up.”
I laugh. Is this some kind of joke? “You own like eighty cars. Why in the world do you need a ride?”
“We’re uh . . . in jail.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and put it on speaker. I motion for Utah to mute the TV. “What do you mean you’re in jail? And who is we? Is Sagan in jail, too?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Who’s in jail?” Utah asks, walking into the kitchen. I motion for him to be quiet so I can hear my father.
“Do we need like . . . bail money? I’ve never picked anyone up from jail before.”
“No, we just need a ride. We’ve been here two hours already waiting for them to let us make a phone call.”
“Okay. We’re on our way.” I end the call.
“Why are they in jail?” Utah says.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Should we tell Victoria?”
“Tell me what?” Victoria walks into the kitchen with impeccable timing.
“Dad’s in jail,” Utah says, turning to face her. “With Sagan.”
She pauses. “What?”
“Don’t know what he did, but I can’t wait to find out,” Utah says. Honor and Luck are now in the kitchen. We’re all looking at each other like we don’t know what to do. I guess we don’t. It’s not every day we have to go pick our father up from jail.
“Have him call me as soon as you pick him up,” Victoria says. “I have to stay with Moby.”
I nod and head to my room to find my shoes. What in the world did they do?