Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Of course, the first thing I do when I see Dylan is spill water down the front of my shirt. I’d just tipped my water bottle to my mouth when he walked into the breakroom. Without thinking, I jerk my arm to wave, and water streams down my chest. Great.

Dylan’s brow arches but he doesn’t say anything. He quietly walks to the paper towel dispenser, tears off a healthy amount, and hands them to me. Then he stores his stuff in a locker and goes out to the patio.

My stomach plummets. Even though I deserved it, I still hoped I’d get off lightly and he’d pretend like I haven’t been a total jerk to him the last few times I’ve seen him.

When I finish sopping up my mess, I follow him outside. Patio A is empty, but the broom leans against the door to kennel A and the mop bucket stands filled with fresh water, awaiting use. I scan the patio with a frown. Unless he’s hiding inside a kennel, he isn’t around. Biting my lip, I start the chores.

Every noise makes me startle. I slosh water onto the floor of the kennel, and after trying to use it to mop the floor, I realize it’s too much, so I’m forced to wring the mop, soak up the water, ring the mop, and try again. Now and then, I hear a strange noise. A thunk or a bang. I stop what I’m doing to pop my head out the door, ready to ask Dylan where he’s been, only to find it’s just the dogs. Because of all the mishaps and distractions, I take longer to complete the kennels on patio A than usual. Feeling dejected, I trudge over to patio Z and open the supply closet to start the process over there.

I’m surprised to find the bucket is wet. I spin around and peer into the corner of the patio where we always dump the dirty water, and sure enough, a ring of wetness surrounds the drain. “Oh no,” I mumble to myself. Dylan cleaned the kennels on patio Z while I worked on patio A. He’s avoiding me and I do not know how to fix it. I’ve been running and hiding all my life. It isn’t like I have experience trying to start a conversation, let alone know how to make up for being a total jerk.

Anxiety crawls through my chest as I approach the cat cave. If he’s in there, I’ll have to address the situation head-on. But inside the cave, I only find gamboling kittens and aloof cats. The litter boxes still need to be scooped, which tells me he went into the cages first. Knowing he’s avoiding me makes me too afraid to track him down. So, with a heavy heart, I tramp to the supply closet to get the scooper and start my cave chores.

Dylan avoids the break room at lunch, too. I eat my lunch quickly and then go out front, determined to track him down before I lose my nerve. I find him at the back of the parking lot, sitting on the curb next to his motorcycle, which is tucked behind the dumpster. He’s talking on the phone, so I approach slowly, hoping he hangs up before I get there. When he runs a hand through his hair and slaps a thigh in irritation, I slow my pace. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s clearly upset about something. I stop, watching as he gestures emphatically with his hand, even though the person on the phone can’t see him.

With a shake of my head, I back up, not wanting to interrupt, but also afraid to. I don’t think Dylan would turn his tirade on me, but my heart is already beating too fast, and my instinct cries for me to escape. Instead, I turn and run back to the shelter.

Hoping Dylan takes patio A to give him time with Popeye, I start on patio Z. Not all the kennels are occupied, so I take extra time with each dog to play fetch and pet them. Still, the chore goes fast, and when I’m done, I pause at the door leading inside to see if there are any dogs loose on patio A. When Dudley, the new dog in kennel K, trots past, I pull the door open and go inside the shelter. Since I know Dylan isn’t crazy about cats, I head to the cat cave again. It feels strange to not even communicate to one another what our plans are. My heart grows heavier as the day progresses. I really blew it and I’m still too big a coward to fix it.

To stall for time, I first take the opportunity to cuddle each of the three kittens. I admit, getting my kitten fix does wonders to ease my mounting anxiety. I scoop the litter boxes and wipe down the surfaces with an all-natural antibacterial wipe. I sweep the floor and rake fur off the carpeted surfaces. Then I grab a cat toy and tease all three kittens into chasing and tackling it. One kitten in particular steals my heart with his frequent missteps and trips. He even steps on another kitten, hoping to catch the toy, but ends up sliding off sideways and lands on his back.

“I thought cats always land on their feet?” I say, righting the kitten onto all four paws again. “You’re a cat after my own heart.”

“Why is that?” Dylan asks.

I jump, scooting backward into the bucket full of cat droppings, which spills its contents across the floor. I laugh nervously and point to the poop scattered across the floor. “He’s as clumsy as me.”

“I’m sorry, again. It seems I’m always sneaking up on you.” Dylan grabs a fresh pair of disposable gloves from the supply closet. “I’ll get this.”

He sweeps the contents back into the bucket, takes the bag out of the bucket, ties it closed, and sets it outside the cave. He sprays the floor with an antibacterial spray and dry mops it clean again

“I don’t mind cleaning up after myself.” I blush as I watch him work. “I’m pretty used to it by now.”

He gives me a pleasant but reserved smile in response, and my heart breaks all over again.

“Listen,” I blurt. “I’m really sorry for yesterday.”

He shakes his head and holds up a hand in a silent gesture of…is it forgiveness or is he dismissing me?

I try again. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately.”

His gaze focuses on me, and he waits. Under the intensity of those dark eyes, my anxiety spikes. If he drops his gaze to my throat, I know he’ll see the vein pulsing. But his gaze remains locked on mine. When his silence continues, I feel the need to fill it.

“I’ve just…it’s been…you’re.” I blow air through my lips, wishing I’d have prepared an apology. “Okay, let me start again.” I chance looking directly at him and freeze. I feel like such an idiot in this moment. The same soft gaze that I’ve previously mistaken for pity stares at me. But now I realize it isn’t pity at all. It’s understanding.

“It’s just that you make me feel—”

The door to the cave swings open and Chloe slips inside, using a foot to steer an attempted escapee cat away from the door. “Here you are. Ava, your brother’s on the phone. He says it’s urgent.”

Alarm bells go off inside my head. For Joel to track me down here can’t be a good sign. Chloe turns to leave, and I follow, scooping up the wishful escapee and handing him to Dylan so we can get out without incident.

I run down the hall to the front desk and snatch up the receiver that sits next to the cradle on the desk.

“Joel?”

“Ava, Mom’s in the hospital. I’ve called and texted your cell, but I remember you telling me you ignore your phone during work hours. I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there in five.”

“What’s wrong with Mom?” But he’s already hung up. I look at Chloe with wide eyes. “He hung up.”

I don’t know why I told Chloe that, but the woman seems to understand. She steps forward and takes the receiver from my hand, placing it back on the cradle.

“Do you need me to take you somewhere, dear?”

Even in my state of shock, I recognize what a generous offer this is for Chloe to make during business hours. I shake my head. “No, he’s coming to get me.”

“Why don’t you get your stuff from your locker?” Chloe suggests.

I feel like I’m floating above my body as I respond. “Good idea.”

I’m in a fog, considering all the reasons Mom might be in the hospital, as I gather my stuff and head out front to wait for my brother. She must have gotten in a car accident. Probably drinking and driving. I’ve always worried about that and now it has happened.

It feels like forever before Joel pulls into the parking lot. His tires crunch to a stop in front of me and I climb inside, feeling like I’m on autopilot.

Joel’s brow is furrowed. Dark stubble covers his chin. His hair is messy, and his shirt is wrinkled.

“I don’t really know what happened. I guess she fell at work. When the person who relieves her got to work this morning, he said…” Joel looks sideways at me. “He said there was blood everywhere behind the counter. Like maybe she had fallen several times.”

“Oh no!” I look at the time on my phone. “Why are we just now finding out? Isn’t her shift over at 7:00?”

Joel rubs his face and growls. “Grandma is her emergency contact. She never answered her phone or listened to her messages—so she claims. A cop showed up at our door about a half an hour ago.”

“Oh no.” It seems to be the only response I know.

Joel nods. “Yeah.”

We’re silent the rest of the drive, lost in our own thoughts. Joel pulls into the emergency room parking lot, and I have to jog to keep up with his long strides.

The lights inside the hospital seem extra bright and the antiseptic smell of cleaner assaults my nose.

The person at the reception desk tells us which room Mom is in.

“It’s about halfway down the hall on the right,” she says.

We approach the door slowly as if in silent agreement to postpone the visit as long as possible. My palms are sweaty, and I rub them on my thighs before following Joel into the room. I’m not prepared for what we find. Mom lays in the bed with her blankets pulled all the way up to her chin. The top of her head is wrapped in gauze and her face is covered in fresh bruises.

I suck in a breath. The sound makes Mom open her eyes.

“Oh, my babies,” she croons. Her voice is weak and slightly slurred, like she’s still drunk.

Joel clenches his fists and his jaw.

I whisper, “Mom, what happened?”

“I don’t know, baby. They tell me I fell a lot at work, but I don’t remember. ”

“You mean you blacked out,” Joel snaps.

I want Joel to calm down, but I’m too afraid to say so. Instead, I walk around to the other side of the bed and perch on the edge of a chair. “Do you hurt?”

Mom shrugs, her eyes flutter. “I’m just really tired.”

“Time to pass out again, huh?” Joel asks.

I give him a pleading look but he only scowls at me.

“I’m not drunk, Joely.”

“Stop calling me that.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest, and it’s the first time I realize he’s bulked up. He’s hovering over Mom like he hopes to scare the alcohol out of her.

“I’m sorry,” Mom smiles wanly. Her eyes keep fluttering shut when she tries to look at one of us. “You outgrew it a long time ago, huh?”

“No, Mom. It’s a term of endearment, and neither Ava nor I have ever been dear to you.”

“That’s not true, Joely.” Mom shakes her head like she’s trying to get a fly off her nose or something. “I’m not a good mom, but I love you both.”

Joel presses his fingers to his temples and turns away from her. He stares out the window into the corridor. Just then, a man walks through the open doorway.

“Hello.” He looks at both Joel and me before turning his attention to Mom. “Who are these fine young people, Cora?”

“These are my kids. Joel and Ava.”

“Hello, Joel and Ava, I’m Dr. Hishkin. I’ve been trying to figure out what caused your mom to fall several times at work last night.”

I open my mouth to say hello, but Joel speaks first.

“That would be my mom’s best friend, Mr. Jack Daniels. I’m surprised you couldn’t smell it on her breath. And,” Joel brushes his hands together, “case closed.”

Dr. Hishkin studies Joel before responding. “I’ve ordered a complete tox screening, but the initial tests came back clear. Your mom had no alcohol in her system.”

Joel crosses his arms again and shifts to one foot. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Am I to understand that Cora has a history of alcohol abuse?”

Joel scoffs. “Oh yeah. A history. A present. And most likely a future.”

“That might prove helpful information as I narrow down my search, but I assure you, your mom’s current condition is not from alcohol consumption.”

Joel just shakes his head, his attitude dismissive. Honestly, I don’t believe it either. Alcohol consumption is synonymous with Mom. Everything she does is because of or for alcohol. However, I must trust the doctor, right?

“Do you have any ideas?” I ask.

“I have some.” The doctor crosses his arms too, but his pose is contemplative whereas Joel’s is combative. “There was an older wound over her eyebrow. Cora said she did that about a week ago. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, about.” I nod. “She said she got dizzy and fell.”

Joel scoffs again. “Dizzy.” He makes air quotes.

I glance at Mom, who is either asleep or purposefully ignoring us.

Joel rolls his eyes. “Just like she claimed not to have spoken that gibberish on purpose.”

The doctor’s gaze snaps to my brother. “Gibberish? Like actual gibberish?”

“Yeah, suddenly she started spewing nonsense words at me. Then a couple minutes later, she claimed to not even remember doing it.” Joel curls his lip. “I think she’s popping some sort of pills now, too.”

Mom lets out a blast of breath from her nose. Her eyes remain closed, but she’s clearly listening. Despite being such a horrible mom, I feel sorry for her having to hear Joel speak this way about her. Or maybe it is just the confrontational aspect that is making me uncomfortable.

“When was that?” the doctor asks.

“Yesterday morning. She’d just come back from the bar. She works the graveyard shift and then goes to that dive bar on 2 nd afterward.”

“Cora, is that the last time you drank? Yesterday morning, after work? I thought you said it had been a couple of weeks.”

“It has been a couple of weeks.” When she opens her eyes, she only looks at the doctor. “I haven’t been feeling well. Those dizzy spells I told you about. So, I haven’t been drinking. But I still enjoy going out with my friends.”

I don’t know what to think. I’ve never imagined Mom not drinking for one day, let alone a couple of weeks. Was that true? “But Mom. You were slurring when you fell at home.”

Her tone is defeated, and her eyes are closed again. “I hadn’t been drinking.”

“I might know what’s going on.” The doctor turns to the door and says over his shoulder, “I’ll order more tests.”