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Sighing, I get into my car and toss my bag on the passenger seat next to me. At least I have a job now.
Even in the car, it's hard to breathe, the metal walls closing in on me, but I'm in no mood to run into Grant Holiday, park ranger from Hell. I need to be alone and have a few hours where I'm not a burden, and I'm not pissing anyone off.
Hitting the gas, I drive until the house is in my rear view. Unfortunately, getting farther away doesn't give me the relief I need. It's all too much, my failure and my sisters' desire to be anywhere but with me. It hurts. Just like our father left, they'd flee if they could.
They'd flee like I am.
Maybe I'm no better than my father.
I turn onto pavement, a twisty, hilly back road without streetlights or even white lines to delineate the edges. Clouds hide the moon and the night is so dark my headlights do little to illuminate my path.
Still, there's no relief, and it's getting harder to breathe, my vision going black around the edges.
Dani, you're just not bringing anything unique to this business. If I'm going to make this the best bakery in the city, I need a baker who can really shine. It would be best for the business if you left. Go to culinary school and improve.My former partner's words are so loud in my ears I glance in the rear-view mirror reflexively.
My baking was never the problem. It was my blind trust and my lack of attention to detail. I'd failed to read the fine print when I'd signed the paperwork to go into business with my best friend. I'd never been a full partner. I'd always been an employee. And when she wanted me out, all she had to do was fire me, and the money I'd put into the business was gone.
When I look back to the road, something white flashes in the beam of my headlights.
I slam on the brakes, but the white flash doesn't appear to race into the forest.
Flicking on my hazards, I get out of my car and hurry around to the front.
A tiny, furry skunk is motionless on the road, only its twitching tail giving any sign the creature might not be dead.
"No," I say into the night, as though anyone might be listening. "I might be a failure with no head for business, but I am not a murderer."
I hurry to my trunk, pop it, and pull out the blanket I keep there just in case it's a chilly night and I decide to pull over and star gaze. Or, you know, if I break down on a cold day, obviously.
I also grab the file box next to it and dump out the contents, every recipe I've ever created, along with newspaper clippings and pictures from my bakery.
Heart pounding with fear, I race back around to the front of the car.
The skunk is still there and I don't see any blood. I stare at the creature, but the headlights aren't enough for me to tell if its tiny chest is rising and falling.
As gently as I can, I wrap the small, warm body in the blanket and deposit it in the box. "Don't be scared, little one. I'm going to get you help."
I don't put the lid on the box, because I don't want the little guy or gal to be alone in total darkness.
Like I'm in an egg race with a raw egg balanced on a spoon, I carry the box to my car, shove my bag to the floorboards, and place the injured skunk in his box in the passenger seat. Carefully, I buckle the seatbelt around the box so it doesn't slide around and further injure my victim.
I shut the door, get in behind the driver's wheel, and stare into the night. I have no idea where the closest vet's office is located or if there's even one open this late at night.
A quick search on my phone reveals there's exactly one vet in town and he's a large animal vet. He's my cousin Brittany's best friend and housemate, Jared Reynolds. I've met him a few times, and he seems like a chill guy. Hopefully, he can make an exception to his large animal rule and see this little skunk.
I don't bother calling first. I put the address into my phone and let the GPS lead the way.
Twenty minutes later, I park in front of a building that looks like a big barn. Tears fill my eyes as I glance at the box. I haven't heard a sound from it since I started the engine.
Thankfully, light glows from inside the clinic and a single outdoor lamp lights the small parking area. My shoes crunch over gravel as I hurry around to the passenger side and unbuckle Skidmark.
Yep, I named the skunk. It seems like a name might give him a reason to want to live.
I wrap my arms around the box and look down at the unmoving, blanket-covered lump as I lift it out of my car. I shut the door with my foot and hurry to the clinic door.
"Come on, Skidmark," I whisper. "You can do this."
Resting the box on my hip, I try the door. Locked.
