“No,” Wilder said. “Grandma Jane has taken up yoga.”
“And posting yoga selfies,” Avery said. He took his phone out of his pocket. “Wanna see?”
“Nope,” Chase said, holding his palms up.
“Anyone?” Avery asked, waggling his phone around. “Danny?”
Danny was manning the grill.
“Hell, no,” Danny said. “That’s my actual grandma, and I don’t want to know if she can get her legs behind her head.”
“She sure can,” Avery said. “It’s yoga! It’s healthy!”
“It’s my grandma in spandex,” Danny said. “No, thank you.” He shuddered and then turned to me. “Did Jim get away okay?”
“He sure did,” I said. “He’s sorry to miss this shindig, but he wanted to be in Vermont in time to see the leaves change.”
Chase wrinkled his nose. “Change into what?”
Cash whispered to him.
“Who the fuck would want to see that?” Chase asked. “Was there no room at the Watching Paint Dry Festival?”
Danny held out a hot dog to him. “Takes all sorts to make the world.”
The three-legged dog raced past with an alpaca in pursuit. Bobby, wearing a pair of stars-and-stripes short shorts, bolted after them. Lucille followed, honking loudly.
Danny shrugged. “See?”
Beside me, Cash laughed softly.
Goose Run was something else. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe there were towns just like this one scattered all across the world,small enough that most outsiders passed right on by, but for the people who stopped for a moment and looked around, maybe those towns were hiding something special. Or someonespecial. I wasn’t much of a believer in higher powers, but sometimes Cash got a thoughtful and serene expression on his face when he listened to podcasts about the universe, like maybe he believed there was some driving force behind everything that steered us all where we needed to go. And looking at him when he looked like that, I could feel myself thinking it just might be true.
The simple truth was that I was happier in Goose Run than I’d been in a long time. I still had a massive student debt, and I still had clients who made me want to bang my head against the wall, and I was still working though a lot of stuff with my therapist, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like it was going to be okay.
I could breathe in Goose Run.
My therapist and I had talked a lot about my depression and how I hadn’t even realized how dark a place I’d been in until I caught a glimpse of the sun coming out again. And Goose Run was a big part of that—getting away from Cincinnati had given me a new perspective—but the bigger part of it was Cash. And yes, we’d talked about the dangers of framing Cash as the person responsible for getting me to address my mental health issues.
So while the romantic in me very much wanted to say that Cash was my sunshine, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t cured my depression and he hadn’t magically made me better. But he’d made me want to stay around andgetbetter and encouraged me every step of the way. So now I went to therapy in Hopewell, and Cash stayed late at Sunny Fields at least one night a week after his shift and talked with Mr. Conrad, which was basically therapy-lite, and most importantly, we were there for each other through it all.
The second most important thing was that both my parents were so disgusted at what they saw as a massive step down in my career—a career they’d never respected to begin with—that they’d stopped talking to me. Well, not entirely. I’d sent my father a text on his birthday and received a polite reply in return, but he didn’t call me several times a day to bitch about Mom anymore. So that was nice—and I meant that sincerely. Not tensing up every time my phone rang had lifted a weight I hadn’t even known I was carrying. I couldn’t blame my parents for my depression, but they sure as shit hadn’t helped any. Maybe in a few years I’d reach out again and try to repair the distance, but I was in no rush. I had other priorities now, including myself, and absolutely no regrets about putting them above my parents’ petty squabbling.
Goose Run was good for me. The life I was building here was one I was proud of, and one that made me happy. Uncle Jim’s clients had welcomed the news that I was taking over the practice, and my confidence was growing by the day. It helped that Alan Springer had been right and Trent Lee hadn’t followed through on his threat to sue. I’d still made it clear that I was strictly a small animal practice, though.
“You want slaw and chili and onions on your hot dog, Mason?” Danny asked me.
“He ain’t that Virginia yet,” Chase said, biting down on his hot dog, which only had mustard and ketchup.
“You know Ohio has these too, right?” I asked him, and Chase shrugged. I nodded at Danny. “Hit me.”
“What about you, Cash?” Danny asked. “Slaw dog or regular boring dog?”
“Regular boring,” Cash said, and he and Chase gave identical grins.
Danny gave Chase a teasing look and said, “So have you asked him yet?”
Chase got that stubborn expression that I’d learned meant he was secretly freaking out. “Not yet. I’m gonna ask him tonight, though.”
