“Zoe?” His voice sharpened. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Whiskers.” Her words tumbled fast, tight with worry. “I can’t find her anywhere. I think she slipped out this morning. I can’t leave her out in this—I have to find her.”
For a second, Jackson closed his eyes. He wanted to tell her not to worry. Whiskers was smart; she’d already found shelter.But it wouldn’t matter. Zoe would go out in the storm anyway, rain be damned.
And he wasn’t about to let her.
“Where are you?” Jackson was already reaching for his coat, keys in his pocket. “I’m on my way.”
FORTY-FIVE
ZOE
Sunday, April 6th
The wind tore down Oak Way, ripping blossoms from the cherry trees. Pale pink petals scattered in the air, plastering wet against the pavement before floating into the flooded street. The storm drains couldn’t keep up. Water rose fast, swirling in dark eddies around the curbs.
Zoe had known something was wrong the moment she came home and the apartment stayed silent. Whiskers hadn’t been there to greet her, which was not like her in the slightest. Zoe had been gone for five hours at least. There’s no way Whiskers wouldn’t be starving by her standards.
Lightning cracked across the sky, flooding the flower shop windows with a blinding flash. Thunder followed closely, shaking the glass. Jackson was on his way, but Zoe couldn’t wait.
She shoved on her boots, tugged on her coat, and snatched the tin of treats.
Stepping out the front door, the wind blew her hood back. Rain pelted her face. But Zoe pressed on.
“Whiskers! Whiskers! Where are you?” she called, her voice carried away with the wind.
Zoe ducked behind the flower shop first, her phone’s weak beam of light barely cutting through the sheets of rain. She pushed through the narrow space between buildings, scanning the low bushes where trash collected in wet clumps. Nothing.
“Whiskers!” Her voice cracked, carried away on the wind.
She moved on, stooping to peer behind the row of trash cans lined against the brick wall, sweeping her light across doorways. Her jeans clung to her legs, soaked through to the skin, and her hair slapped wetly against her cheeks.
“Come on, sweetheart…where are you?”
The storm swallowed her words.
Her throat was raw now, hoarse from calling over and over, but she couldn’t stop. She lifted her phone higher, the beam bouncing off slick bark and wet leaves as she scanned the trees. Branches swayed wildly, creaking against one another in the wind. Her heart thudded with each flash of lightning, expecting to see the glint of eyes staring back at her.
Nothing.
Her socks squished inside her boots, water seeping through. She slowed, shoulders sagging. Hope was slipping, drop by drop.
And then she remembered.
Last summer. Mrs. Bishop holding the shop door open too long while a delivery came in. Whiskers slipping out, silent as a shadow. Zoe had been frantic that day, combing the alleys until her legs ached. She’d thought she’d lost her for good.
But Whiskers hadn’t been lost at all. She’d been perched high in a tree by the lake chirping and meowing at a family of ducks below. Zoe had spotted her finally, tail flicking, golden eyes locked on her feathery prey.
If there was anything Whiskers loved more than kibble, it was birds.
Zoe straightened, rain running down her neck. The park. The ducks. Maybe Whiskers had gone back there. The thought lit a spark in her chest, faint but enough to push her forward again.
She texted Jackson quickly—Heading to the community park by the lake—and then she clutched the can of treats tighter and turned toward the waterfront, boots splashing through the rising water.
Whitecaps rolled across the small inland lake, the storm churning its normally calm surface into someplace Zoe didn’t recognize. If there had been ducks earlier, they’d long since vanished, tucked away somewhere safe and dry.
“Whiskers!” Zoe’s voice was hoarse now, nearly gone from shouting. “Whiskers, baby, come on!” She rattled the can of treats, but the sound was lost to the wind and the pounding rain. Her hair clung in wet ropes against her face, her coat heavy against her frame.
