“I don’t need protection because this is over.” I say it with as much authority as I can muster, so he knows it’s for real.
“So that’s it? It’s over?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I won’t help you when you decide to run away.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Saying that makes me feel sick because I really do. And seeing the hurt on Miles’s face makes it worse. Immediately he catches himself and his gaze drops to the ground. Then he uses Chardonnay as a distraction.
“Chardonnay! Knock it off!” Miles walks over to her, pulling her by her collar. She grunts as he pulls her away from whatever she was licking, then snatches it off the ground. It’s trash of some kind, but she tries to jump up as he walks back over to me with it in his hand.
He spins it around and I see it’s a large jar of peanut butter. Of course Chardonnay would go for that.
“Where did you even get this?” Miles asks. “We’re a Trader Joe’s family.”
I see the label and my heart goes right to my throat. It’s Jif. The brand Easton eats by the spoonful.
“No,” I whisper.
Valencia scolded him about going through a whole jar in four days. But he didn’t eat the whole jar.
I snatch it from Miles’s hands and he gives a half-hearted “Hey!” I look inside but the jar has been practically licked clean. The sides are clear all the way to the bottom, where only a little remains.
Chardonnay jumps up on the fence, her nose slathered in peanut butter.
Forty-One
“You need to get her to a vet!”
Miles shakes his head. “It’s fine, that brand doesn’t use the artificial sweetener. Even if they did, she’d probably still be fine. She ate an entire jalapeño plant, peppers and all, when she was a puppy. And then had, like, a perfectly formed shit. She’s practically a garbage disposal. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, you don’t understand. This was poisoned!” I point to the jar. “You have to get her to a vet and pump her stomach!”
He looks at the jar, his eyes wide with horror. “How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter! You need to get her help now.”
“You’re freaking me out.”
“Miles!” I give him the most pleading look I can, and it works, because he finally nods and says okay in a shaky voice. Chardonnay groans as he picks her up and runs into the house. He yells for his mom as the door shuts behind him.
And I’m left in the backyard with the empty jar of peanut butter.
Easton’s newest threat.
I spend the night in my room, waiting for Easton to come home. When his door to our shared bathroom opens, I pull mine open as well.
“What did you do to Chardonnay?”
He stares at me before walking over to the sink and grabbing his toothbrush. “Excuse me?”
“Miles’s dog. You threw your jar of peanut butter into her yard today. What was in it?” I checked the trash cans but didn’t find anything that might be poison, but he could have used something else. And I haven’t heard from Miles yet. I’ve also been too afraid to ask.
Easton stops mid-toothpasting the bristles on his brush. Then he grins and it’s like I’ve stepped into a trap he set long ago. “If she found a peanut butter jar, I’d go out on a limb and say... peanut butter.”
He stares at me as he puts his toothbrush in his mouth and turns it on. The low buzz of the electric motor fills the silence.
