The Unexpected Everything (13 page)

I'd been on my own with Pippa, a rotund French bulldog, who had actually been pretty easy to walk. I had a feeling that her owner had scheduled a walk more to get the dog some cardio than anything else, since I found if I paused even a little, Pippa took that as an indication that it was time to rest and flopped down on the ground. But that was the only real incident, which seemed to me to be a good sign.

“Great,” Maya said with a grin as she hopped off the back and took the key from me. She clipped it onto an enormous carabiner that held what had to be thirty sets of keys, then flipped through them and selected one, pulling it off and handing it to me. “Ready to do one without me?”

I knew there was only one real answer to this if I wanted to keep the job I had just started. “Sure,” I said, with what I hoped was more confidence than I felt.

Maya laughed. “You'll do fine. I'm just a phone call away if anything happens.”

“Right,” I said as I took the keys from her—three on a ring clearly marked
GOETZ-HOFFMAN
.

“It's a new dog for us,” she said. “Dave walked him for the initial temperament test the other day and thought he'd be fine. They're looking to have their dog walked once a day, so this could be a great regular client for you.”

I nodded, trying to ignore how hard my heart was beating. I'd been on national TV before. This was just walking a dog. So why did it seem so much harder? “Great,” I said, gripping the keys hard.

“I'll text you the address so you'll have it,” she said, pulling out her phone. “And the client wanted the dog walked in the afternoon, but they're flexible with time. If they're at home when you pick up the dog, just confirm that they want this to be a daily thing. And you should be all set.”

“Great,” I said again, realizing a second too late that I'd repeated myself. “I mean, good.”

Maya laughed at that, then slammed her back hatch closed and walked around to the driver's seat. “You'll do awesome,” she called as she got into the front seat. She started the car and drove away, waving to me out the window.

I closed my hand tightly around the keys—suddenly and irrationally terrified I would lose them and a dog would be sitting at home, unwalked and miserable, maybe having accidents on expensive rugs, and it would all be my fault. I dropped them in the front pocket of my cutoffs and headed for where I'd parked my car on the side of the road.

I'd just gotten behind the wheel when my phone beeped with the address. I glanced down at it, and felt my stomach plunge.
But this only lasted a minute, as I made myself read the address again and realized there was nothing to be concerned about.

MAYA

Hi! The house is at 8 Easterly Terrace.

Call or text with any problems!

I let out a breath, telling myself to calm down, that this was ridiculous. But for just a second, when I'd first seen it, I'd read the address as East View Terrace, which was where our old farmhouse was.

I hadn't been back since the day I'd left for Camp Stepping Stone. And even though I obviously wasn't driving when I was twelve, I could have gotten one of the people staying with me to drive me over there. But I didn't, and the more time that passed without me seeing it, the more I wanted to avoid it. My friends knew this and wouldn't drive past there when I was in the car. Not that it came up a lot—the farmhouse was on the very outskirts of town. But now that I'd gone five years without seeing it, I was certain that I didn't want to. What if the house had been replaced by something horrible and modern? Or—and this was somehow worse—what if it
hadn't
? What if it was exactly the same house, and there was some other family eating dinner under my mother's drawings, getting to see them every day, taking them for granted like I had done?

I punched the address into my phone's GPS, put the car in gear, and headed over there. I was halfway to the Goetz-Hoffman house when my phone beeped with another text. I kept my hands on the wheel, ignoring it, until it beeped four
more times, in rapid succession, and I knew that a text chain had started without me. I made a quick right on a side street, put the car in park, killed my engine, and pulled out my phone, hoping it was an actual all-four-of-us conversation and not just Toby texting until someone responded to her. I looked down at my phone and smiled when I saw everyone was on board.

PALMER

Okay, it seems that being a stage manager

means watching your boyfriend macking

on some random college freshman

BRI

Macking?

TOBY

PALMER

Toby, that is the opposite of

helpful right now

BRI

It was helpful for me. I had no idea

what you were talking about.

ME

You've seen Tom kiss lots of

girls in the other plays, P.

PALMER

Yes, but that meant I had to see him do it

only at the performances.

Now I'm having to live with it. Like every day.

TOBY

Egad. I see what you mean.

Or I would, if I'd ever had a boyfriend.

BRI

Please don't say that you're cursed

TOBY

BECAUSE I'M CURSED

ME

Seriously, T, you're not cursed

BRI

Thank you.

I checked the time on my phone and realized that I should probably get going, especially since it was the first time I'd be walking this dog.

ME

Gotta go—I've got dogs to walk

BRI

Am I the only one who think that

sounds vaguely dirty?

TOBY

Yes

BRI

You don't see it?

TOBY

NO. What's wrong with you?

BRI

Andie?

ME

I am no way getting involved in this, guys

PALMER

Call me later?

ME

For sure

TOBY

PALMER

Seriously, Toby, we're about to stage an intervention

TOBY

Wait, about what??

I smiled as I turned the sound on my phone to silent, knowing this conversation would probably keep going and that when I looked at my phone again, there would be a dozen or more messages waiting for me. I double-checked my directions to the Goetz-Hoffman house, then turned on my engine and headed that way.