Page 7 of The Lovely and the Lost
“In terms of grandfather names,” Jude asked the old man, “would you say you’re more of a Granddad or a Papaw?”
The edges of the old man’s lips ticked slightly upward. “You can call me Bales. That’s my name, and if I know my daughter half as well as I think I do, that’ll have to do.” He stood with his hands by his side, nonthreatening, nonconfrontational, but ready to move. “Now, as much as I would like to continue this conversation, son, your mother and I have something to settle.”
“No,” Cady said. “We don’t. What part ofnodon’t you understand?”
Bales Bennett didn’t bat an eye, didn’t so much as raise his voice. I got the sense that he was the kind of man who never had to. “The part,” he said, “where your issues with me are making you turn your back on a missing child.”
After that, Cady really did kick us out of the house. I barely noticed. The wordsmissingandchildwould always take me to places in my memory that I didn’t want to go—the smell of wet dirt, gnawing hunger. I remembered blood beneath my fingernails. In flashes, I could feel myself,crouching, cowering, growling. I could see my tiny body lying in the ravine.
I remembered the exact moment that Silver leapt down beside me.
But whenever I tried to picture what had come before—the weeks in the forest, how I’d survived, the events that had led me out there?
Nothing.
“Some people might say our grandfather is manipulative,” Jude commented, preparing to lather up one of the bloodhounds. “I prefer to think that he is offering our family an opportunity for emotional advancement.”
Jude never left me stranded in the dark for long. With a wink in my direction, he turned his attention to his K9 partner. NATO, a three-year-old bloodhound, was the peacekeeper of our makeshift pack—and every bit the optimist that Jude was.
“Come on, bucko,” Jude crooned, patting the inside of the tub. NATO looked up at Jude adoringly and jumped haplessly in.
“Poor sap,” Free commented. “Doesn’t matter how
many times we play this game, he never sees the betrayal coming.”
“I am going to assume,” Jude replied austerely as he turned on the hose, “that you are talking about the dog.”
It was another few seconds before NATO realized, belatedly, that he wasbeing bathed.He bayed mournfully.
“Whoever could have seen this coming?” Free asked the dog. “In related news, someone needs to help me with Her Ladyship.”
NATO was Jude’s dog. Duchess was Free’s. Both were bloodhound mutts, but somehow, NATO had ended up with the temperament of a happy-go-lucky Lab, while Duchess was a bloodhound to her bones.
Her Ladyship wasnotgetting in that tub.
“Cady would say,” Free commented cheerfully as she tried—and failed—to grab hold of Duchess, “that this serves me right.”
Everything else came easy to Free—school, people, boys. But she’d chosen theonedog that she could never outstubborn. She’d spent hundreds—maybe thousands—of hours training Duchess. Her Ladyship was an excellent tracker.
But baths were a different matter.
“Care to take a stab at this, K?” Free was the only one who ever shortened my name—the only one Iletshorten it.
I crouched down to Duchess’s level. For several seconds, we appraised each other. Duchess didn’twantto be sweet-talked.
“That man is in there getting under Cady’s skin,” I told the dog, feeling about as agreeable as she did. “He’s hurting her.”
“Mom can take care of herself,” Jude interjected. “She’s the great Cady Bennett. She laughs in the face of danger and cantankerous relatives.”
I kept my focus on Duchess, whose expression was mutinous. “Someone doesn’t like being boxed in,” I murmured. “Someone doesn’t like surprises.”
Free looked from Duchess to me. “Someone doesn’t like changes that are out of her control.”
Free’s observation hit me harder than it should have. Pushing down the unexpected emotions roiling in my gut, I snagged the hose from Jude and tossed it to Free. “Splash around a little,” I told her. “Let Duchess come to you.”
Obligingly, Free ran her hand back and forth beneath the spray. Duchess cocked her head to the side, but Free knew better than to so much as look at the dog. Instead, she flicked a stream of water at me.
I jumped back, landing in a crouched position. A rumble made its way up my throat—a laugh. Free got a wicked gleam in her amber eyes and advanced on me slowly. Feeling like Saskia on the verge of a run, I dodged.