Also, he might regret writing the note.
He actually said heknewhe’d regret it.
But I want to throw myself into his arms. I do. I want him. I just want him and that’s all there is to it, and now I know that he wants me, too.
I’m heading toward Tatum’s room when I hear barking outside. And then—an unearthly scream. And quacking.
It’s coming from the pool house. I take off running.
46
My breath comeshard with the unexpected burst of energy. I rush across the overgrown lawn, across the pool deck, and through the open door of the lounge where the birds live.
Blood is strewn across the carpet, mixed with bird poo, chicken feed, and split peas. Glum has shoved her massive body halfway under the couch. She is throwing herself around under there. The birds that are still alive are screaming in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I heave myself onto the dog, pulling her with all my might by grabbing her rib cage, but she’s enormous and determined. I can’t move her back when she’s lunging forward.
I keep yanking on her and look around the room. There are little white and yellow feathers everywhere.
I can see—oh, it’s horrible—carcasses of six dead birds. The remaining four must be under the couch, but I don’t know how many are left alive. Glum is surging forward, growling, tipping the couch up and down.
I decide to move the couch itself. I let go of Glum and head around to one end and try to lift. But it’s too big. There’s nowhere to get a good handhold.
Suddenly, Tatum is in the doorway. He sees the situation and throws himself flat on the floor, reaching deep under the couch.
He’s trying, I think, to pull Glum by the neck, but she doesn’t wear a collar. “I can’t get hold of her!” He wrenches himself backand up and runs to the other side of the couch. “Pull it away from the wall.”
The couch is very heavy, but together we’re able to yank it back and toward Glum a couple of inches.
As we do, the last of the screaming stops.
By Tatum’s feet, blood and feathers. A wing.
Glum, still hunting, backs her body out from under and runs around to where I’m standing.
I look down. By my feet is a lone duckling. It’s Cotton, still alive.
“Hold the dog!” I cry.
Tatum runs to where Glum is trying to push past my legs, aiming to kill the duckling. As he grabs Glum and holds her back, I scoop up the tiny feathered body and clutch it to my chest.
Glum twists and struggles but Tatum gets a grip on the back of her neck and stays firm. As soon as he gets the dog partway under control, I run outside with Cotton.
The duckling is so light and fragile I worry I will break its tiny bird bones just by carrying it across the yard.
I realize I am crying.
In the castle, I go up three flights to the bathroom I share with Brock.
I lay a towel in the bathtub and set Cotton down on it, gently.
She seems unharmed. She waddles back and forth, quacking.
I fill a water glass and set it in the tub so the duckling will have something to drink.
I bang on Brock’s door and tell him I need him in the pool house and not to bother the bird in the bathroom.
—
