It just so happened that she was allergic to chrysanthemums. Severely so. Her mother had made the discovery when eight-year-old Ruby had been presented with a bouquet after a pageant win. The rash that covered her arms, neck, and face had taken weeks to clear up—weeks in which she’d been forced to remain indoors and out of sight so no one would see the splotchy mess of her skin.

“Wheezy, you’d better really be sick and not just high as all get-out,” she muttered as she located a cement birdbath and started dragging it toward the window. She did her best to avoid touching the flowers, but there was no way to get the birdbath in place without brushing a few of them away. If history planned on repeating itself, the itching would start any minute now. “If all you get out of this are some profound insights on the existentialism of man and a case of the munchies, I’ll never forgive you.”

She was aware of the women in the book club filing out to watch as she pushed out the window screen and began jimmying her body through. A few of them shouted words of encouragement. Darla gave her rear end a push. And Sally, after Ruby had to twist and turn to get her body through without dislocating any of her major joints, said, “I told you she’d be flexible.”

She didn’t have time to reply. The moment she landed on the beige carpet with a soft thud, she realized that Wheezy wasn’t enjoying his high. He was awake but barely, his body slumped against the door as though he’d never be able to move it again. His brown eyes were glazed in a way that barely registered her presence, and drool fell out of the side of his mouth in huge, globby rivulets.

“Oh, you poor honey,” she cried, falling to her knees in front of him. She had no idea what she was supposed to do in this situation—if she was supposed to make him throw up or give him water or hold his paw until the worst of it was over, so she did the only thing she could think of.

She shifted her body as close as she could get and held him. His head lay passively in her lap, which was all the sign she needed to know that he wasn’t okay. Wheezy would never willingly lower himself to cuddle with her.

With a quick prayer that Spencer would get here soon, she began murmuring soothing, nonsensical words, keeping the dialogue going even when the itching began.

* * *