I wonder why the man would give away a book when the bookstore needs every dollar it can get.
Then it finally sinks in: He really likes them. Or at least he really likes Fiona, and since she and Amelia Mae are a bonded pair, that’s enough forme.
“That’s generous of you, but I’m happy to pay for it,” says Fiona.
“Mom, never turn down a genuine offer. Especially if it’s a free book. And this one’s very important—so thankyou,Miguel.”
“Don’t mention it. But out of curiosity, why’s it so important?” he asks.
“Well, I’m worried about Uncle Jon, and I have a strong suspicion thatThe Dark Halfis going to help me figure out how to help him.”
“Didn’t you just tell me kidnappings are a statistical anomaly?” Fiona says, cocking her head at her daughter.
“I haven’t been worried about him being kidnapped since I talked to him in the closet,” she says slowly, like she’s explaining this to a child. “But I heard the two of you arguing the other night, and I know he’s being weird. What if there’s a voice in his head, telling him not to write anymore? What if it’s his secrettwin,buried in his brain?” she says, covering her face with her hands as she pretends to be horrified.
“Love, that’s a whole lot of storytelling right there.”
Miguel clears his throat. “Um. Fiona? Is there a chance that your brother’s actually struggling? After all, he doesn’t believe in writer’s block. He’s said that repeatedly in interviews—that you can solve for it with desire and discipline.”
Fiona frowns, searching for the right words. After a moment, she says, “No, it’s nothing like that. Jon’s just doing the living he didn’t get a chance to when he suddenly skyrocketed to success. He claims he’s had enough of being in the public eye. And I quote: ‘The frickin’ internet ruined everything.’ ”
“Okay, Flintstone,” says Amelia Mae. She drops her handfrom her face and frowns at her mother. “So…you like the bookstore?”
“Of course,” she says, glancing around. “It’s practically perfect in every way.”
“Thank you,” murmurs Miguel.
“I knew you would,” says Amelia Mae. “I had a feeling even before I came here. But now that we know for sure how great it is, we have to dosomethingto help them out.”
“You’re sure you won’t take the check?” Fiona asks Miguel.
He shakes his head firmly. “I really can’t accept something for nothing, nor your money. I appreciate that you like the store—it means a lot to me. But you didn’t get us into this problem, and it’s not on you to get us out of it.”
“I know that, but I like you, and my daughter likes your dog.”
He thanks her with a shy smile.
She smiles back. “Actually…” She puts a finger under her daughter’s chin. “You’ve raised an interesting point. Weshouldhelp Uncle Jon make things right—and I might have a few ideas. I want to strike while my mental iron’s hot, and there’s no way I can work on the train.” She turns to Miguel. “Would it be a terrible bother if we stuck around a little while longer?”
“It’s no bother at all,” says Miguel, whose flushed cheeks tell me he meansit.
“Terrific. Then let’s see if there’s a hotel around here where we could spend a night or two.”
Amelia Mae turns to me. “Hang on to your harness, Harry! I have a feeling we’re in for some fun.”
Twenty-Two
I’m enjoying a late afternoon snooze when I hear Miguel scrambling around downstairs. I swear he’s speaking to someone, and he’s making a terrible racket. Then I remember that Amelia Mae and Fiona are here, in our town. Maybe they’ve stopped by our house for a visit!
But when I make it to the kitchen, Miguel’s alone, scooping food into my bowl.
“Eat up, and then we’re going out,” he tellsme.
I eye him with equal parts suspicion and incredulity. Does “out” mean back to the bookstore? Heisdressed in clean clothes, even if his freakishly long toes are poking out of his sandals—that’s one feature about humans I’ll never warm to. I bet we’re heading around the block, since he’d tell me if we were seeing our new friends. Well, I suppose anything’s better than sitting here.
I tend to my bowl but don’t finish my kibble; it’s too much effort for too little pleasure. Then I walk to the door, where Miguel clips the leash to my harness. But rather than headingdown the driveway, he directs me to the car. “You’ve got to be on your best behavior,” he commands as he points at the space behind the front seat.
“Best behavior” means we’re not going to the bookstore, since I don’t need to be told how to act there. Where to, then? It’d better not be the vet.
