Page 2 of Will Bark for Pizza
Husker, typically the world’s quietest Husky unless pizza was involved, started to whine, his excitement escalating. It didn’t matter that we were still three miles from the fork in the road; he recognized the landmarks. The marina with the pontoon rentals, the enormous house perched on the highest hill this side of Glimmerstone Lake, the metal statue of a moose at the edge of a driveway that Husker always found suspicious.
Guilt gnawed at me. Bluebell Springs was hands down his favorite place, and we hadn’t been back since Aspen’s wedding last summer.
We hadn’t been much of anywhere.
Cracking the back windows diverted Husker’s attention away from the cookie, and shifted my guilt to more manageable levels. He resumed pacing at twice his previous frenzied speed, darting from window to window every few seconds, as though he didn’t want to miss a single scent.
I slowed, much to the annoyance of the car behind me, who took the first opportunity to pass on the narrow, winding road. Damn tourist. Husker deserved to take in all the smells. Fur swirled around the interior of my Jeep, forcing me to also roll down the front windows, just so I could see the road ahead.
Maybe I should call Dad, and warn him I was coming.
I glanced at the dashboard screen. My fingers hovered above the call button for several seconds before falling away. “I think it’s better to surprise him, right?”
And everyone else.
Husker didn’t answer me. He was too busy freaking out.
He recognized the familiar fork up ahead. Left, and you drove through downtown Bluebell Springs, accessing all the touristy shops and local businesses. Or, take the right, and bypass the main strip in favor of a straight shot to Glimmerstone Lake.
The painted wood sign surrounded by a colorful array of flowers had welcomed residents, newcomers, and tourists alike to my hometown for decades. It was disarmingly stationed in the center of the fork, but angled just a bit to the left—as though beckoning anyone headed toward the bypass to reconsider a visit to the small town before heading out to the popular lake. Thesign grew bigger through my windshield at an alarming rate.
Anxiety officially set in, my chest heavier. I felt my throat close. But before full-on panic hit, a fiber of dog hair tried its damnedest to sneak up my nose, and I sneezed.
An odd reset button, but I wasn’t complaining.
My eyes squinted shut for a fraction of a second, but when they re-opened, my gaze landed on Kat’s Place, right on the outskirts of the fork. The parking lot was three-quarters full, a notable sign that tourist season was well underway.
My stomach twisted into a knot. I was ninety percent certain I was still on thedo not servelist.
I wouldn’t miss the drinks. After Travis, I no longer touched alcohol. But I’d certainly miss the burgers and crisp French fries seasoned with what I could only describe as crack.
“Here we go,” I said to Husker, tapping the brake to slow us down, and taking the left fork into downtown.
I didn’t know how this was going to unfold. I didn’t exactly leave town on great terms last summer. I said plenty of mean, fucked-up things under the mixed influence of heartbreak and the bride’s special cocktail.
“They never should’ve given me that microphone,” I mumbled. Though Aspen had forgiven me, I’m not sure anyone else did. How could I blame them? It was quite possible that the second my tires hit asphalt downtown, I’d get a police escort right back out, courtesy of my oldest brother.
But I had to risk it.
Mom hadn’t been in my dreams in months. She’d beengone for four years now, and I could count on both hands the number of times she appeared in my dreams since the day we lost her. Each time, something significant happened. Sometimes good. Sometimes really fucking bad.
Now, when she showed up, I paid attention.
I hoped Dad was okay. That my brothers weren’t in any trouble. Oh God, I hoped nothing had happened to my niece.
“Connor would’ve called me,” I reassured Husker. Which of course made his ears perk with interest. He loved both of my brothers; he loved my niece even more. “Or, at least,someonewould have called me.”
I glanced at my dashboard screen again, tempted to make the call and just rip off the Band-Aid, but my fingers didn’t move from their death grip on the steering wheel.
In my dream, I lay flat on my back on a paddleboard in the middle of the smaller, lesser-known Ghost Lake. Husker was perched on the end of my board, relaxed and taking in the sights and smells.
Mom floated on a board next to me. Books floated all around us. So many books.
It was magical and incredibly peaceful. I had so many things I wanted to say to her, but I was so comfortable just lying there, the sun warm on my skin, the gentle rock of small waves tranquil. I stayed silent. It was enough just to have her near again.
But then the wind picked up.
The calm waters turned choppy.
