I kneel on the floor and she leaps up to put her paws on my shoulders, sniffing me all over and kissing my face, and I’m laughing so hard because I’m. Just. So. Happy.

You came back! You came back! You came back!

“I promised you I would!” I tell her, then look to Gramps and Macy who are beaming as they each take turns petting Dewey.

You came back!

Her tail is wagging back and forth, knocking into walls and chairs so hard I’m afraid she’s going to hurt it.

“All right,” Gramps says under his breath. “Let’s blow this pupsicle stand, kids.” He hitches his thumb in the direction of the reception desk where Molly is still watching us suspiciously.

Chapter 20

FREEDOM RIDE

Outside, I lead Dewey across the parking lot toward the teal four-door sedan. Macy and Gramps follow behind us. But as soon as I get to the door, I hear a click, and when I pull the handle, the door is locked. Gramps and Macy each try their doors too, and none of them budge.

That’s when I see our Ryde driver’s face. She’s staring wide-eyed at Dewey, who’s giving her the sweetest puppy dog face ever! She’s afraid, Dewey tells me.

“No, there’s nothing to be afraid of!” I shout through the window.

Dewey jumps up on the car door, so that she’s face-to-face with the driver, and then she licks the glass. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.

But since it seems I’m the only one who can hear Dewey, the driver gets the wrong idea, and shrieks. Even more scared now, she fumbles with the car keys as she starts up the engine. Gramps knocks gently on her window, and all of us are shouting, “It’s okay!”

She shakes her head, and just keeps repeating, “I can’t, I’m sorry!” And then she reverses out of the parking spot.

“Wait! Don’t go!” I shout. But it’s too late.

She’s gone.

Dewey pants nervously, looking all around.

And just then, there’s a lawn mower–like rumble mixed with a high-pitched squealing coming from behind us. We each turn around, and almost in slow motion, like something out of an action movie, an old rusty car pulls out from behind the building. It glides up next to us, and the front window rolls down.

The driver lowers their sunglasses and says, “It looks like you could use a lift?”

“Patrick!” I shout. “Yes, we could—we really could!”

“Hop in,” he says, reaching to unlock the back-seat and passenger-side doors.

Gramps and Macy look at Patrick uncertainly, then at me, and I know what they’re thinking before they even have to ask.

“Don’t worry, Patrick’s a friend,” I say. “We can trust him, I promise.”