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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

He smiles. “Yeah, after you went to sleep, I found the cooler I packed for you in the back seat. I totally spaced that you didn’t touch it. How ya feeling?”

“Great, awesome actually. I think I just took the longest piss of my life, though it was in one of the garbage cans.”

My dad laughs.

“How many drips did you hook up, like seven?”

“Just two.”

I shrug and ask, “You still got that cooler you packed for me?”

“No, I fed it to the boys on the way back.”

“After what they did, you gave them a treat?”

He shrugs.

“You pushover.”

As if on cue, Lassie rounds the corner. He stops and stretches, his arms out front, his little butt high up in the air. Just another day in Lassie Land.

“Dude.”

He gazes up at me.

Meow.

“What do you mean, what? Do you not remember what you morons did last night?”

Meow.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Your little escapade cost me ten minutes of questions that I needed answers to. Answers I may never get because you guys had to chase around some stupid goats.”

Meow.

“Oh, you’re super sorry. That makes it all better.” I get down on my haunches and reach down to pet him, then swat him on the top of the head.

I stand up and look at the clock.

3:06 a.m.

I ask my dad, “Hey, I’m a little behind schedule, could you whip me up something while I get to work?”

He jumps up and starts rummaging around the kitchen. My dad cooks three things well: spaghetti, grilled cheese, and pancakes.

“Actually, Isabel dropped some soup by this afternoon,” he says. “It will go great with my famous grilled cheese.”

I grab a seat at the kitchen table and flip open my laptop.

Lassie is facing the kitchen, his back to me, sitting on his back legs. A tiny little statue. He’s pouting.

I’d never swatted him before.

I start to feel guilty.

I walk over and pick him up, turn him toward me. He is about three feet extended and dangling. He won’t look at me, his head swiveling so his gaze won’t meet mine.

“I’m sorry I swatted you.”

Meow.

“I did not thwack you.”

Meow.

“It did not feel like you were hit by a baseball bat.”

Meow.

“It also didn’t feel like I dropped a piano on your head.” I pause, then tell him, “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

I reach him up and blow on his stomach. An apology zerbert.

He laughs.

Licks my nose.

Best friends.

I set Lassie down and tell him to go cuddle up with Murdock and that my dad will bring them both some grilled cheese in a bit.

The first thing I do is check Facebook to see if I have a message from Sidney Ewen.

I don’t.