Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“I’ll go,” Stella says, turning to her roommate. “Is it okay if Jessie stays here with you?”
“Of course.”
Stella retrieves her purse from where it was hanging on a chair at the dining table, then kneels in front of her daughter, telling her to be good, and that she’ll be home as soon as they get Goldfish checked by the doctor.
“Will he be okay, Mommy?” the girl asks, and my god, the dog had better be okay, or I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Goldfish, for his part, is lying on the tile floor, flat on his belly, legs splayed out behind him. As soon as Stella grabs his leash, his tail starts to wag. Poor guy probably thinks he’s going for a walk.
“We’ll run home and get our car. And we’ll check the package labels. We still have them in the trash,” I tell Stella, who nods. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
Wyatt and I are both quiet as we jog back around the corner to our house. I know he’s feeling as sick about this as I am. How could something as innocent and basic as marshmallows cause a problem like this? We should’ve been more careful.
“I’ll get the marshmallow bags while you get the car,” Wyatt says when we’re at the door.
“This had better turn out okay,” I tell him.
A minute after I back out into the driveway, Wyatt appears with a fistful of empty plastic bags and several beach towels tucked under his arm.
“I don’t see xylitol listed on any of these,” he says. “None are sugar free.”
“That’s a relief. I hope that means it’s just a simple upset stomach for the poor pooch.”
“Let’s hope.”
Around the corner, Stella is waiting at the end of her driveway with Goldfish on his leash and a pile of her own towels in her arms.
“We brought towels, too,” Wyatt tells her when he hops out. “Want to sit up front?”
“I’ll sit in the back with Goldfish,” she says.
He opens the back door and spreads our towels on the seat and floor, but Stella hangs back when he’s done.
“We should really take my car. Yours is too nice.”
I wave her in. “It can be cleaned. No worries.”
As soon as we’re on our way, Wyatt tells her that there was no xylitol listed on any of the packages. “These are all the brands we got,” he says, handing her the empty bags.
“Okay, good. Maybe we should take these in and show the vet, just in case.”
“Sure thing.”
I drive fast, but not so fast that I might make Stella feel unsafe. This would be a perfect opportunity to get to know her better, but it would be insensitive to talk about anything else right now when she’s worried about her dog.
When I’m stopped at a light, I catch her eye in the rearview mirror. “I can’t say enough how sorry we are about this.”
“I know you didn’t mean any harm.”
When we check in at the vet, the receptionist warns that we may need to wait an hour or more to see the doctor. I guess it’s a good thing that Goldfish isn’t sick enough to be their top priority. He didn’t throw up during the trip here, either. Another positive sign, I hope.
We take seats in a back corner of the waiting area, and after sniffing everything his leash will let him reach, Goldfish finally lies down beside Stella’s chair with his chest resting on her foot, and falls asleep.
After a few minutes of silence, Stella asks, “How long have you lived in the neighborhood?”
“Almost two years,” I tell her. “Did you just move in recently?” When she nods, I ask, “How do you like it so far?”
“It’s nice. Pretty quiet.”
“It’s good except for marshmallows flying into your yard, right?” Wyatt quips.
She smiles and nods, and it suddenly occurs to me that she probably has no idea why we were flinging marshmallows around.
“We’re content creators,” I tell her.
She lifts her brows. “Is that right?”
“That’s what we were doing with the marshmallows. Having a battle for online content.”
“Oh, do you do kids videos?”
“Not exactly,” I say, and Wyatt shoots me a look that I can’t quite read.
“Is that why the woman at the grocery store wanted a picture with you?” When I nod, she says, “You must be pretty popular.”
“Our channel’s been growing nicely.”
Just then, Goldfish makes a low growling sound followed by a quiet bark, but he’s still asleep, lying on his side, his legs twitching.
“He’s dreaming,” Stella explains. “Probably imagining himself chasing marshmallows around the yard.”
I’m grateful she’s making jokes about the situation, despite her worry.
“How old is your daughter?” I ask.
“Six.”
“Are you divorced?”
In response to my question, Wyatt gives me another look that’s much easier to read. You are an idiot, he says without words. I give him a look back: Can’t blame a guy for trying.