“Ni-iii-ice . . .” Patrick says, smiling at Macy and Gramps. Then, as he looks back at me, he draws his eyebrows together like he’s confused, hitching his thumb toward the offices behind us. “But I just saw your mom in the back.”

“What!” I shout. “But . . . but she’s not supposed to work on Saturdays.”

“One of our other doctors was sick today. She must’ve gotten called in. What—why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just. Can you please not mention to her that you saw me here? I’d be in really big trouble,” I whisper.

He makes like he’s zipping his lips and then tosses an invisible key over his shoulder. “I don’t even see you right now. Who’s talking to me?” he says, looking all around. “Guess I’m just talking to myself again. Get back to work, Patrick!” he mutters, walking away.

And immediately, I hear a familiar voice coming from down the hall. “Goodbye, little Miss Gracie. No more eating your dad’s socks, okay, little girl?”

I peek my head around the corner and I freeze.

There’s a man standing there with a short-legged, long-eared basset hound. But that’s not the part that has my feet glued to the floor. It’s the woman in the white coat leaning over to scratch under Gracie’s floppy ears.

She stands up and hands the man a white paper bag and says, “She should be fine in a few days. Just be sure to give her this medicine twice a day with food.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor.”

It’s. Mom.

And she’s about to turn right toward me!

I force my feet to fly into action and whip back around the corner, plastering my body against the kitten crates. Underneath the frantic meowing of the two tabbies, I can hear Mom’s footsteps coming down the hall. Closer and closer. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and pull my hood up over my head and hold my breath. I wait for her to find me.

But . . .

Hold on.

Her footsteps keep going.

I open one eye and turn my head just enough to see her disappear into the back room. The door swings back and forth behind her with a schwoopschwoop.

I rush over to Gramps and Macy.

“Mayday,” I whisper. “I repeat, Mayday. Mom. Is. Here!”

“What do you mean?” Gramps asks. “She’s supposed to be at my apartment!”

“Oh no,” Macy mumbles with her hand over her mouth. “No, no, no, no.”

“Whaddowedo? Whaddowedo?”

Gramps looks worried, his eyes darting back and forth between Macy and me. “Sassafras, it’s going to be okay, I promise.” He steps forward in line. “Look, it’s almost our turn.”

But then I hear Mom’s voice again, behind us. “Hey, you!” she coos. “What are you doing here?”

Macy grabs my hand and squeezes.

My heart turns to butterflies.

Gramps’s eyes go wide.