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“Very,” she quickly agrees.
“Listen, apparently the adoption thing isn’t going to work out, but I’d like to cover all the fees for those cats that need them. Are there families who can’t afford the fees?”
“You can ask Corbin, but I’ve heard him say too many times that if they can’t afford the low fees, then there will come a time when they can’t afford the vet bills and maybe even the food. He doesn’t want to send an animal into a situation that might be bad for them, but we take donations all the time. Do you want to come inside and get a donation envelope?”
I eye the front door, watching as another customer comes out with an animal losing its mind in the small carrier she has in her clutches.
“There’s also a link online,” she says after the woman gets the carrier inside her minivan.
“I’ll use that,” I tell her. “Thanks for your time, Claire.”
I give her a little wave before getting into my car. I check the glove box for napkins, sighing in relief when I see a huge stack. I pull a few out and stuff them in my cupholder for ease of use. I know I’ll be sneezing for the rest of the day, but maybe I’ll get lucky this time and my eyes won’t start swelling shut.
I skip the trip to Austin, knowing it might force me out after work one day later this week if I run out of stuff, but I know my body. I can’t risk the drive right now.
I’m feeling rather foolish for not thinking this whole thing through as I pull up outside my house.
I can’t keep plants alive, so gardening isn’t an option. I don’t exactly have a lot of free time with my hours at the bakery. I could have more classes, but I feel weird charging for them. It feels like a constant money grab, and I know eventually people will start gossiping about me and wondering if I’m having financial trouble.
I cringe thinking about Ruth offering free dinners to me on Mondays when I go in for chicken and dumplings.
“Crap,” I mutter.
Now I know how Claire feels. We’ve all wanted to help her, but we haven’t taken into consideration how she feels about accepting it.
That’s not true. We even talked about her not wanting charity, and we still bulldozed her life and put her in a position where she couldn’t say no. I played as big a part, offering her twice the cupcakes for free, as Stanley Jones did to make sure Larkin got gifts on her big day.
Since there’s nothing I can do about my past with Claire, I force myself to think about my own life and what I can do that’s in my control.
I park the car, leaving the windows cracked a little because the heat is bad enough, I’m certain my dash will melt if there isn’t a way for some of it to escape.
I pull my mail from the little box on the porch and carry it inside.
Noticing that it’s the fourth and I still haven’t gotten my water bill speaks of routine but it also tells me just how boring and predictable my life is.
I need change. I need something different. I don’t think a trip to the hair salon is going to fix it this time. I need something bigger, something more daring.
Of course I have to call Madison because she’s always been my cheerleader. She’s also the type of person who will support me and remind me why I wanted something in the first place when I start to have my doubts and back out.
She’s the reason I practiced walking for hours after buying a pair of heels for our senior prom. She’s also the one who told me to stand proud and not shrink down to make myself fit in someone else’s box they were trying to shove me into. She said this after my date showed up and said I needed to put on flats because the shoes I had on made me the same height as him.
Madison told him it wasn’t my fault he was short, and then she danced with me all dang night. It was one of my fondest memories. I wanted to ask Cash to be my date, but I’d done that my sophomore year and he turned me down. He told me it was weird to go back to a school he had already graduated from.
“I need your help,” I say into my phone the second the call connects.
I stare down at the stack of mail that was probably delivered to every other resident in town. There’s nothingpersonal about any of it, and I’m honestly tired of being so dang predictable.
“Is this going to require a shovel and boots?”
I huff a laugh.
“Not this time.”
“You know if the FBI were listening in on this conversation they probably wouldn’t understand that the last time was because we were mucking horse stalls because you felt bad for Mr. Hinkle.”
“That old man still glares at me every time he sees me. How was I supposed to know the difference of hot and cold manure?”
Madison releases a puff of air, the sound of it crackling in my ear. “Don’t say manure.”
