Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
A few minutes later, once I’ve wrangled the beast, my crew removes the frozen water bucket and replaces it with a fresh one. Then they give her a heaping bowl of warm food, another one with dry, hoping it will last her until we come back in a few days, then top it off with some chew treats, give her some soothing words, and we all make our way back to the cars.
We pull down the street, ready to start all over again at our next stop. Then our next. And our next.
By noon we’re freezing and exhausted, but with each nudge of a head that needs a scratch, every jump up for hugs they only get from us, tails wagging, we are fortified. Resolute.
And heartbroken.
What we do would shatter most people with even the dimmest of light in their hearts.
Back in my car, we take a turn toward the east end of town and my phone buzzes on the console.
I look at the screen and see it’s my brother, James.
“Hey,” I answer, my entire body shivering, trying to crank up the knob on the heater, but it’s already on max. “You coming to help out today?”
James joins us on runs when Dad doesn’t have him working.
“Yeah, I was going to, but I got a call yesterday.”
“A call?” I exhale, blowing my warm breath upward toward my frozen nose, desperately trying to warm the prickles of frostbite out of my hands.
“Yeah, hey you remember that guy that helped me out? When I was up at Cleary?” Something in his voice sounds warm and excited.
My pulse races. I haven’t told James or anyone about writing to Dutch. I knew James had been to visit him a couple times, but I wasn’t sure the extent of their contact. I never mentioned Dutch. He was my secret to keep.
“I guess. Maybe?” I lie hard. I hate doing that to James. But I’d hate to let go of my secret even more.
“Well, listen, don’t be scared, okay? But I talked to Dad and Mom. They agreed.”
Uh-oh. “Agreed to what?”
“To give him a job. And…”
And.
And.
I say a silent prayer for whatever is about to happen.
“He’s going to stay in the little house. Until he can get on his feet.”
My skin prickles. Warmth fills every muscle in my body. My eardrums feel like they are vibrating. My pulse making a loud woosh-woosh-woosh sound.
The little house is what we call the guesthouse on the rear of my parents’ property. My mom always wanted to turn it into a getaway for her and her friends who are quilters, but she and Dad are always so busy trying to work, pay wages, chase down new business and hold on to the bit of security they’ve managed to create for themselves and our family with our small auto repair business. As a result, it’s never been a priority. Which means it sits empty… Which means…
I desperately try to focus on the road, but it feels like an electric current is crackling over my skin. Everything suddenly feels like a dream.
“He’s going to fix it up, come work with us. You know how Dad is with you. I can’t believe he lets you do your outreach stuff but he knew you were not backing down on that. But, I gave him my word to keep you safe. Dutch had a bad stretch, but he’s not a bad guy. You have to believe that.”
“I know,” I answer without thinking.
“Wait, you know? How do you know?”
Damn it. I’m the worst liar in the world. “Sorry, just…figure of speech,” I stammer. “I gotta go. At our next stop.”
“Okay. I’m leaving to go get him. See you later. Mom’s cooking her famous fried chicken dinner. Says he’ll need a good meal.”
I hang up the phone and stare at the icy road, feeling my core turn molten.
Holy shit balls.
Guess who’s coming to dinner?
CHAPTER 2
Dutch
Dear Dutch,
I’m finding it more and more difficult not to pick up my pen and jot down things I want you to know about during the day. Like this morning, I went to pick up coffee on my way to the garage and when I went inside, there was this elderly couple sitting there, all dressed up like they were at Sunday church, not sitting at Giley’s Restaurant where even the salads are served with a side of lard.
Anyway, there they were, sipping on their coffee, holding hands across the table like they were the only two people in the world. As I walked by, I saw the woman was in a wheelchair but that’s not what caught my eye. Sitting up on the table was an old oval picture frame with a faded sepia tone photo of a young couple. I figured it must be them when they were younger and I paused for a second to look, feeling this clutch in my heart taking in the silent, frozen moment.