Mr. Sanders starts to say something. But then he changes his mind. “Did he take the dog to a shelter to see if she has a microchip?”
“Oh. Um. I don’t think so?” Shoot shoot shoot. Should’ve said yes.
He looks at me sort of the way Daniel did the other day. Like he’s really seeing me. He has the same eye shape as Daniel, deep-set and intense, but his mouth is grim where Daniel’s seems ready to quirk into a sad smile at any second. Maybe it’s just grim because his kid busted him with another woman. He has the hangdog face of that dude who plays the Hulk when he’s not Hulked out. Guilty and sorta sick. Like he’s done something he’s not proud of.
The bathroom door opens. Daniel comes down the hall looking like he ate something from the back of the fridge that should’ve been chucked a few weeks ago.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Sanders asks him.
“Fine,” Daniel says, not meeting his eyes. He was definitely crying in there.
“There’s a shelter ten minutes away,” Mr. Sanders says. “With any luck, the dog’s chipped and we can solve this right now.”
Daniel takes Chewbarka from me, looking miserable.
In the back of Mr. Sanders’s car, which has the same funky mold-in-the-AC smell Mom’s car has, Daniel holds Chewbarka and looks out the window. He buries his nose in the fur at the back of her neck. She shifts in his arms like he’s holding her too tight.
I reach out and take his hand. He folds his fingers through mine but doesn’t look at me.
The shelter smells like bleach and pee and stressed-out dog. Chewbarka clearly hates it. She tries to claw her way up Daniel’s neck and leaves a big red scratch on his skin. I try to take her from him, but she’s not having it.
The gray-haired Black lady at the front desk looks wiped out, like she’s cared about homeless animals too hard for too long. Mr. Sanders explains the situation to her, or at least the fake situation. He takes a struggling Chewbarka from Daniel as he talks.
“All right, let’s see him.” The lady beckons for Mr. Sanders to hand her over.
“Her,” Daniel corrects. “She’s a girl.”
“Oh—I’m so sorry, sweetie. You’re a girl! Yes, you are!” The lady cuddles Chewy and ruffles her ears. I feel a little sick. I wish people would apologize like that for misgendering me. Instead, if Mom corrects them, they usually get all flustered and defensive.
Daniel hugs his ribs and looks through the glass doors at the rows of cages full of abandoned dogs. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know his heart is breaking as much as mine at the thought of all those animals who are gonna wind up dead because humans suck.
The shelter lady puts a thing that looks like a grocery-store scanner on the back of Chewbarka’s neck. The scanner beeps. “Name’s Chewbarka,” the shelter lady says. “Belongs to a guy named Mark McBrenner.” She sits back in her creaky desk chair and scribbles the phone number and address from the scanner on a Post-it.
“There you go,” Mr. Sanders tells Daniel. “Problem solved.”
The woman holds out the Post-it. Mr. Sanders reaches for it, but Daniel plucks it from her hand. “I’ll call them,” he says quickly.
Mr. Sanders looks at him suspiciously, but doesn’t press it. He thanks the lady and we leave. “Are you two hungry? We can stop there.” He points at the McDonald’s across the street.
Daniel gets into the back of the car without answering. His silence says everything.
“I’m not really hungry either,” I lie. I’m upset about how that went down too, but . . . that was a heckin’ long bike ride and I’ve worked up an appetite.
Once we’re all in the car, Mr. Sanders turns to face us, looking pained. “Daniel . . . if you need to talk about anything, I’m here. Okay? I hope you know that.”
“Here isn’t at home with us. Where you belong.” Daniel sounds like he’s about to cry again. Guy-me wants to jump in and stab his sadness with a lightsaber. Girl-me wants to cuddle the heck out of him and tell him it’s okay to be sad when your parent is disappointing you.
Guy-me is definitely winning right now. My shoulders are up. Everything is tense.
“Let me see the Post-it, please,” Mr. Sanders says. “We’ll drop off the dog.”
“What? I said I’d take care of it!”
“We can do it now.”
“But I want to do it!” Daniel sputters. His eyes are wide, his hands gripping Chewbarka so tightly I hope he’s not hurting her. “I’m the one who’s been taking care of her. I want to bring her back myself!”
He’s not the only one reeling. I have no idea what we’d tell that Mark McBrenner dude. He thinks his dog is dead.
Daniel’s dad frowns. “How exactly do you plan to do that? On your bike?”
“Yes!”
“I’m saving you a trip. I don’t understand why you’re getting so worked up.”
“It’s not about the dog!” Tears leak from Daniel’s eyes. He wipes his nose like he’s angry with himself. “You ignore us for two months, and suddenly you want to be a dad and help me?”
Mr. Sanders lets a moment go by. Then he takes out his wallet and gives me a twenty. “Ash, would you mind going to McDonald’s and getting us a couple burgers for lunch? Or whatever you want. I’m sure you’ll both feel better after some food.”
“Uh, sure.” I’m totally being invited out. “Daniel . . . are you okay?”
He nods curtly without looking at me. I want to take Chewbarka, but I can’t go in the restaurant with her, so I get out of the car. “Good luck,” I murmur before closing the door.
I don’t think Daniel can talk his way out of this one.
16
Chewbarka’s Person
Daniel
My heart sinks as the door closes behind Ash. She’s on my side. I want her here.
