“People don’t rehabilitate rodents. They catch them in traps. Occasionally stomp them.”
She sputtered. “Well, I don’t.” She knew that Remy was being intentionally difficult. Because he often was. “I’m sorry that your relationship with your dad was unhappy. I really am. But . . . this dog is just another of his victims. The same as you.”
“Well, I’m not a dog, though.”
“Granted,” she said. She took a deep breath. “I’m going to help you. With the dog. I’ll come over every day.” Just saying that made her heart rate pick up. So much exposure to Remy might be dangerous to her heart.
“Sure. Fine. But I . . . What am I supposed to do with him in the meantime?”
“Do you have a crate or anything?”
“I don’t have any animals in my house.”
“That’s very strange,” she said.
“It’s really not.”
She sighed. “Okay. Why don’t you and Hank come to my place. And then we’ll get some supplies for his first night.”
“Why didn’t you just bring them?”
“I didn’t know if you were going to take him.” Except, she kind of had. Because the thing about Remy was that he might pretend he was tough, a completely impenetrable fortress, but she knew there was more to him than that.
“All right. I’ll . . .”
“I’ll drive—you can take Hank in your truck.”
“He’s a dog I don’t know.”
“You’re going to get to know him.”
Chapter 3
After he got the mutt loaded up into his front seat, he started the engine and began to follow Lydia out of the driveway. He punched the call button of his phone on the console of his truck.
“Matthew,” he said. “Your sister just brought a dog to my house.”
His best friend sighed. “That sounds like her. Why isn’t she keeping it?”
“Because he belonged to my old man.”
He heard his friend’s breath hiss through his teeth. “Well, she misread that situation.”
“And how.”
Except he did have the dog, so had she misread the situation, or did she have his number in more ways than he wanted to admit?
The thing about Lydia was . . . she was special.
Matthew was his best friend, and his parents were the only people even close to parental figures he’d ever had.
Lydia was something else altogether. She’d always had the power to make him laugh, to make him smile. To make him sigh in horror, also, when she did things like save baby mice from certain doom.
He could remember that well. She’d had a whole passel of the little beasts in a basket, wrapped in towels.
Those things are disgusting.
They’re living creatures, Remy!
