Wyatt!” I say, more sharply than I intend to.
He shifts uncomfortably, an expression of helpless confusion shadowing his face. The light turns green, and he takes off again.
“Nobody can make this better,” I tell him, my voice shrill and wobbly. “It’s never going to be better.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Quit apologizing! God, Wyatt. I’m the one yelling at you for no good reason. Why do you have to be so nice? Why don’t you just punch me or something?”
Wyatt draws back his head and scowls. “Punch you? Shit. I don’t want to hit you! Why would I punch you?”
“Because . . .” I swallow. “Because if I hurt on the outside, maybe I won’t feel this awful pain on the inside.” Sobbing, I lower my head.
I don’t look up again until the truck comes to a stop. We’re parked in front of the veterinary clinic, a mud-colored adobe building. I stare at the door.
Seconds tick by, then Wyatt sighs and says, “Jeez, Lil. I’m—”
“Don’t say it!” Despite my mood, a smile twitches my lips.
Wyatt grins his sheepish grin. “I was going to say ‘I’m happy to oblige, ma’am.’ To punch you, I mean.” He pulls off the blue stocking cap he always wears and bows in his seat, his sandy hair spiked out all over his head.
And just like that, I feel lighter, a little more like myself. “You’re such a dweeb,” I say, squeezing the words through my swollen throat. “I don’t believe for a second that you were going to say that.”
Scowling, he tugs his hat back on. “You wound me. Name one time I’ve ever misled you.”
“This week, or last?” I smirk at him.
Wyatt tilts his head to the side. “So where do you want me to slug you?”
I point at my chin and smile. “Here.”
He makes a fist, draws it back, then brings it forward, brushing it against my chin gently. “Pow,” he says.
My smile falls away. “I can’t believe Dad’s dead,” I say quietly.
“Me either. It doesn’t seem real.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. It’s just . . . everything keeps building up inside me. You were just in the way when it exploded.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.”
We climb out of the truck, and I go inside the clinic, while Wyatt spreads his sleeping bag out in the car to make a bed for Cookie. Dr. Trujillo gives me some painkillers, then carries Cookie outside, placing him in the middle of the old bench seat where Wyatt has laid the sleeping bag.
When Wyatt and I take off again, I lean down and look into Cookie’s eyes. He licks my cheek, happy to see me. I bury my face in his warm, furry neck and stroke his back while Wyatt drives.
Wyatt is grinning like an idiot when I finally lift my head. “Remember when we dressed Cookie up in a cowboy hat and a bandanna and took him with us to that Halloween carnival when we were kids?” he asks. “He’s probably still psychologically warped over it.”
As if to prove Wyatt’s point, Cookie groans and we both laugh.
Wyatt reaches over and scratches Cookie between the ears. “I wonder if your mom still has those pictures she took of him in his costume.”
“I don’t know. I’d ask, but she’s not speaking to me,” I say. “She’s the one acting psychologically warped lately.”
“Maybe she just couldn’t handle the funeral stuff. Too hard.”
“Maybe,” I say.
He looks back at the road. We ride in silence the rest of the way home.
When we arrive, Wyatt puts Cookie in his pen by the fire while I slip out of my coat and join Addie in the kitchen. She’s busy labeling the food people brought while we were gone and putting it in the freezer. Casseroles and soups go hand in hand with grief, I guess.
“Nobody brought desserts,” Addie informs me. “I’ll make a blackberry cobbler later.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“Nonsense.” Placing another casserole into the freezer, she adds, “I know there’s plenty here for lunch, but I was thinking I’d try to talk your mama into going to town with me for a bite to eat. Give you two a break from each other and get her mind off her troubles for a while.”
“Good luck getting Mom out of Dad’s shop. Ever since the accident, she’s practically living out there. She said she’s been doing some sketching and going through Dad’s things, deciding what to get rid of.”
“Bless her heart. That does it, then; she has