I headed to the bedroom and dressed, but as I put on my boots and coat by the front door, the lizard suddenly clung to my leg and chattered in agitation.
“Whoa. What’s with all the drama?”
The critter suddenly climbed me like a tree until it sat on my shoulder. “I take it this means you wanna come with?”
No reply. Of course not. Lizards didn’t speak but apparently, I was so desperate for any kind of interaction I expected this one to.
Thankfully it didn’t, or I’d have been questioning my mental state. Life already sucked with the nightmares and panic attacks. I didn’t need to add hallucinating talking reptiles to the list of things wrong with me.
“Let’s go see if there’s a kiddo missing you. Think I’ll grab some groceries too. Forecast says we’re going to get blasted later today.” A few inches at the very least, possibly more, depending on the winds. The chalet might be snug and warm, however, the owner had advised me even a hint of snow could make the road unusable until a snowplow came by and they sanded the treacherous stretch—which apparently could be a few days after a dumping since the more remote homes that used the road weren’t considered a high priority.
I headed for the Fiat Panda I’d rented, a far cry from the pickup truck I drove back home. Soon as I made the driver’s seat groan—because apparently it didn’t appreciate my six-foot-five ass—the lizard hopped from my shoulder and began to explore. On the dash. Passenger seat. Into the back.
It screeched when I started the motor and fled to my lap. “It’s okay, Percy. Just the engine.”
A glance down showed it looking at me warily then eyeing with even more suspicion the dashboard beyond which the puny four-cylinder, 1.3-liter turbodiesel chugged.
Whatever anxiety it had fled by the time we started driving. It stood on my thigh, its paws flat against the window as it stared outside. A few times it turned its head to chitter at me as if exclaiming over the scenery.
Or so I imagined. Might be a fun thing to put in the book. The lizard and Brett having conversations which would show off my hero’s softer side.
When we arrived in town, it seemed busier than usual, especially the grocery store. Soon as I entered, Enzo—a balding Italian with the most impressive mustache, who usually brought my groceries—lifted a brow at the sight of me and in heavily accented English said, “No pets.”
I glanced at the reptile on my shoulder. “Sorry. It wouldn’t stay home. You don’t happen to know if anybody lost a reptile? I found this one at the place I’m renting.”
“Lost?” Enzo frowned. “No.”
“If you do hear of someone looking for a lizard, let me know, ‘kay?”
“Si.” Enzo nodded. “You food need?”
“Yeah. Thought I should grab some stuff what with that storm coming.”
“Grande tempesta!” Enzo exploded his hands. “Niente elettricità. Need candela?”
My Italian sucked but I grasped enough to figure out the warning. Power failure possible, grab some candles.
Good advice. I also loaded up on toilet paper—because this wasn’t a war zone and I would wipe my ass with something soft. Boxes of cookies. Canned goods. Meat. Lots of it. Even if the power went out, I could stick it outside and keep it cold until I cooked it. If the propane stove ran out of fuel, I’d grill it in the fireplace.
Percy—despite the lizard’s dislike of the name, it had kind of stuck with me since I began writing about it—remained on my shoulder, garnering looks, one shriek and a pointed figure by an old dame, as well as a few kids giggling.
But no one claimed the lizard. Good. The little bugger was already growing on me. Who knew a lizard could have so much attitude and be just the thing a lonely grump like me needed?
As I was standing at the checkout, a crying child caught my attention. A glance behind showed a woman trying to calm the tyke perched on her hip. She wore huge sunglasses despite being indoors and wore a scarf that wrapped over her head and loosely tucked around her neck. Despite the mom’s soft murmurs, the child wailed louder and reached for the cart. Make that the box of biscuits on top.
“Why don’t you give her a cookie?” I rumbled.
She stiffened and in a heavy accent replied, “I have not paid for them yet. I apologize if we are disturbing you.”
“Bah. I’ve heard worse.” I turned away and pulled out my wallet to pay. Percy took that moment to start gibbering.
Loudly.
The cashier, a young female, gaped at the lizard.
The kid stopped crying and in a high-pitched baby voice exclaimed, “Dinosauro. Mio.”
My Italian sucked but I understood that. My dinosaur. Damn it. Was I about to lose Percy?
