He didn’t remember making any deal officially. He should’ve given in on the ice cream.
“Someone has to stay here with the animals.”
“We’ll move the box into the truck while we’re gone, just in case.” She reached over and slid the fluffy, decrepit cat off his lap. “Mr. Whiskers can babysit Bernard. They’ll be fine for a couple minutes.”
She hopped out and reached down into the truck bed, trying to grab the rooster box. It shrieked like a banshee and waggled out of her reach. She stood on the back tire and tried again but couldn’t get the leverage she needed. He sighed.
Fine.
He got out and grabbed the box, flipping it and keeping a wary eye on the top, where an evil beady eye peered at him through a small opening between two flaps. He set the box in the cab and slammed the door.
“I’m not interested in being preached at by some self-righteous pastor who thinks he knows about life because his dog died once.”
Rae gave him an inscrutable look. “I don’t think the pastor’s even here on Fridays. We’re not here for church.”
He signaled for her to lead the way and followed her into the building. He only had himself to blame for this one. It had been his idea to go after the rooster. His idea to bring her along. His idea to let her drive. She stopped at a door marked Room F and smiled back at him. Uh-oh. Girls only smiled like that when trouble was coming.
Loud and rowdy kids were everywhere when she opened the door. His eyes widened. Was this where the exorcisms took place?
A young man approached. “Rae, what are you doing here?”
Rae grinned. “Just stopping to say hi. I brought a friend.”
“I see that.” The young man held out his hand. “I’m Mark.”
Gerrit stared at him. How did he walk around in pants that tight? And did he not own a razor?
Rae nudged him.
What? Oh, right. He shook Mark’s hand. “Gerrit Laninga.”
“I’m impressed.” Mark turned back to Rae. “Two new volunteers in one week?”
Gerrit shivered, the word volunteers casting a cold shadow. What was this guy talking about?
Rae gave Gerrit a sidelong glance. “Well, I—”
“Let me see if I can find another volunteer application,” Mark said, then gestured at the feral creatures climbing the walls, “while you introduce Gerrit to some of the kids.”
As Mark walked away, Rae tugged on Gerrit’s arm. “Come on.”
Gerrit followed dumbly. It was like one of those horror movies where you scream at the person to run because you can see the monster coming for them, but they’re frozen in fear. And then they get eaten.
Rae waved at a tiny slip of a girl sitting against the wall, who looked like she would blow halfway to Canada on a windy day. “Hey, Taylor. Got any homework this weekend?”
The girl hung her head, her face stricken, and wrapped her arms around her knees.
“Everything okay?” Rae asked.
The words that came out of the little girl’s mouth next shocked Gerrit out of his daze. What foul pit of hell was this? It was worse than a milking parlor on a hot summer day. He had to get himself out of here.
Rae grabbed his arm as if sensing his intentions. “I’m going to need to talk to her. But first let’s go say hi to Morgan.”
Gerrit was too dumbfounded to protest. He didn’t know anything about a world where people just “go say hi.” For no reason. Or where little girls cussed as if the barn were on fire. But before he could express his dismay, he was standing at a table in the back of the room occupied by a boy with black hair. He appeared . . . sullen.
“Hey, Morgan,” Rae said.
The boy gave her a slight nod, then looked at Gerrit with suspicion.
Rae was either oblivious or pretended not to notice. “This is my friend Mr. Lan—uh, Gerrit. Gerrit, this is Morgan.”
The boy met his gaze. They stared at each other, sizing each other up. The boy—what had she said? Morgan?—looked about Rae’s age. Was it true kids could smell fear like sharks could smell blood?
“I need to talk to Taylor for a minute.” Rae patted Gerrit on the elbow. How condescending. “Be right back.”
The boy, Morgan, watched her walk away almost as if . . . was that fear on his face, too? Gerrit cleared his throat. He was the adult here.
“Got any homework this weekend?” He borrowed Rae’s question.
Morgan stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged and pointed a thumb at Rae across the room. “She brought me.”
Morgan looked down, pondering Gerrit’s answer, then relaxed his shoulders as if accepting it. “What kind of dog do you have?”
Gerrit’s forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“There’s dog hair on the bottom of your jeans.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t have a dog.”
Morgan waited.
“I mean, it’s my wife’s.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s a corgi.”
The boy’s face shifted ever so slightly. “I like corgis.” His voice was quiet. “What’s her name?”
This was rather ridiculous. Talking about dogs with some strange kid in some random church that some meddling girl had dragged him to.
“Daisy.”
Morgan waited. Expecting something.
Gerrit shifted on his feet. “Uh . . . do you have a dog?”
“I used to have a golden retriever.” His expression darkened. “Her name was Fangs.”
A golden retriever named Fangs? Could this day get any stranger?
“Did she die?”
Morgan flinched. “No.”
If he wanted Gerrit to pull the details out of him, it wasn’t going to happen. It was none of Gerrit’s business what happened to this kid’s dumb dog. He shifted again and glanced around the room. Where could Rae have gone?
Morgan stared at the bottom of Gerrit’s jeans. “Maybe you could bring Daisy next time you come.”
Gerrit shook his head as if to clear it. No, he wouldn’t be coming here again. And he definitely wouldn’t be bringing that ratty creature. Morgan glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. It was as if he knew Gerrit didn’t want to be there. Knew to expect disappointment.
