by Freya Barker
“Dad, put that shit away,” Dimas grumbles, walking out holding two mugs and handing one to me.”
“Put it away, Max, baby,” Ana urges in a soft voice, putting her hand on her husband’s.
“But I need it. You know how messed up my bowels get by the morning if I don’t get my nightly hit.”
“We can light one up in the parking lot of the motel,” Ana soothes. “It’s probably better to be close to our own bathroom anyway. That new stuff is like inhaled polyethylene glycol. It shoots through you like a bullet.”
Identical groans go up from both brothers and I struggle to keep a straight face. Britt, who was listening closely before, seems to have lost interest in the conversation and skips down to the grass to play with the dog.
“How long will you be staying?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation into a different direction before one or both brothers stroke out.
“We’re leaving tomorrow after lunch. We’re heading down to Havens Hot Springs for a week. It’s beautiful there; hot springs, views of the mountains. We go every year,” Ana informs me.
“Sounds absolutely wonderful.”
“Oh, it is. We always look forward to it. You should come; the springs and the mountain air do wonders for your body and soul.”
“I don’t think now is a good time, but perhaps when the timing is a little better.”
Apparently something I said is funny, because Yanis bursts out laughing.
“Sweetheart,” Dimas mumbles in my ear. “Havens is a nudist camp.”
Conversation veers into safer waters and at around ten I go in to check on Britt, who went to watch some TV inside. She doesn’t object too much when told she should say her goodbyes and head to bed.
Ana, Max, and Yanis don’t stay long after that. With promises to be by in a week on their way back from the springs, we wave the guys’ parents off from the front step.
Yanis bends down to kiss my cheek.
“Thanks for being a good sport, Willa.”
“You owe me one, man,” Dimas comments. “Better watch your back.”
Yanis laughs all the way to his vehicle as Dimas pulls me inside.
“Your parents are…fascinating,” I volunteer when he closes and locks the front door.
“To put it mildly,” he scoffs. “How many people you know can boast their parents’ pension is derived from an illegal pot grow-up?”
“Are you serious?”
I follow him into the kitchen where he starts to hand-wash the few dishes left. I grab a towel and dry.
“As a heart attack,” he says. “Wyoming laws on pot are among the strictest in the country.”
“Jesus, have they ever been caught?”
“Dad spent some time in jail on a trafficking charge twenty years ago.” Dimas shakes his head. “He’d taken some produce to the local farmers market and thought it was a good idea to try and sell some small plants. In case you haven’t noticed, my parents live in an alternate universe.”
“They’re certainly colorful,” I concede carefully, taking another mug from the dish rack.
“Anyway,” he continues. “He’s gotten a bit more clever. They only supply people they know and all transactions are cash. He even has the local sheriff as one of his best customers.”
I laugh at that. It sounds like something out of a sitcom.
“They seem like good people.”
“They are. A bit misguided, perhaps. As you may have guessed Mom practices Wicca. She’s apparently very convincing since she managed to start a coven with a dozen or so faithful members out of the four hundred and fifty or so area residents. It still boggles my mind. She worships a goddess, and Dad worships her, and that’s all I care to know about it.”
“Hard to believe you and your brother come from that nest,” I observe, setting the last of the mugs back in the cupboard.
“Wasn’t easy growing up, let me tell you. As loving as they were, our childhood was far from normal. I don’t think they were cut out for parenthood. Yanis and I both craved structure.” He drains the sink, wipes his hands on the towel I’m still holding, before tossing it on the counter, and pulling me in his arms. “I love them, but I’m glad to have found my own path.”
I wind my arms around him and press my lips against the hollow between his collarbones where I can feel the slow steady beat of his heart.
“Funny,” I mumble against his skin. “We’re both rebels of sorts, but my rebellion was because of certain expectations, and yours was the result of a lack thereof.” I tilt back my head and look in his eyes. “Maybe that’s why we seem to fit so well.”
The corner of his mouth twitches and the green in his eyes darkens.
“Wanna see how well we fit?”
Dimas
“I was thinking,” Willa says, stroking Twister’s unruly fur.
In two days the dog has made herself at home, not only at night on Britt’s mattress, but during the day on my couch. The first time the pooch looked at me slyly, her moves tentative, but now she just jumps up without even acknowledging me.
All the females in this family seem to feel quite at home here. I don’t really mind. Willa’s windows were replaced yesterday, and my brother had taken it upon himself to install a good security system. I haven’t mentioned that to Willa yet, but did get her to agree to stay here until we can be sure she is safe.
I’d much rather have them here period.
“About?” I prompt her.
“Twister. Or rather, dogs like her. Older dogs nobody wants. What if we took one on at the shelter? Maybe two? They could provide some comfort and companionship to our residents.” She looks at me with eager curiosity. “What do you think? Is that a crazy idea?”
“Not crazy at all,” I tell her honestly. “More and more veterans with PTSD use service dogs.”
“Yeah, but these wouldn’t exactly be trained service dogs, just friendly dogs who are basically as homeless as the guys at the shelter are.”
“I don’t think it matters much. There are a few considerations, though. The biggest one being that animals cost money. There’s food and veterinary care to take into account. Having animals at the shelter may even have an impact on insurance premiums. Those are things you want to check into.”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you broach it with Rosie?”
“Maybe I will. Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow’s Monday and Willa is adamant about being back at the shelter, even though I don’t feel comfortable letting her out of my sight yet.
“Willa…”
“Don’t Willa me, Dimas. It’s my job. People are counting on me, these men are counting on me.”
I run a frustrated hand over my beard.
“I’ll make you a deal. You put another pot of coffee on and I’ll see if I can get any more information.”
Willa can’t cook worth shit, but she makes an awesome pot of coffee.
After breakfast Britt had gone back to her room to read a book—I seriously love a kid who picks a book over social media—and we’ve been hanging around in the living room, since it’s raining outside. I’ve been waiting for a call from Yanis, who was supposed to touch base with Underwood to see if anything came out of his talk with Parker. At the very least, I’d like confirmed he remains in custody before I’ll even consider letting Willa go to work tomorrow. Even with someone covering her.
I step out on the deck and pull out my phone, dialing my brother.
“I was just about to call you.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Got off the phone with Underwood not five minutes ago. Apparently Parker was only delivered by State Patrol this morning and minutes later Parker’s lawyer arrived. Half an hour after that, two pissed-off FBI agents came in the back door.”
“FBI?”
“That’s what I said. Made clear to Underwood he was stepping into an eight-month-long, multi-state federal investigation. Told the chief to delay questioning the good doctor and hold him f
or the full seventy-two hours before charges have to be filed. They want a chance to tie up as many loose ends as possible and took off with any evidence.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, Parker is a significant player, but the Feds want to try and bring the entire organization down at once. If they jump all over Parker now, likelihood is all the other players go underground.”
Two guys got killed on their watch, and we’ve been used for target practice without as much as a beep from them. Makes you wonder what the Feds are willing to risk—or even sacrifice—to roll up this fight ring. They must’ve known Bergland was on Parker’s payroll, but didn’t step in when Brad or Willa were being falsely accused. I’m not about to trust them to keep Willa safe, and that’s all I care about.
“I’ll cover Shep and Kai’s pay, but I don’t feel good about taking them off Willa yet.”
“We can worry about that later. We’ll keep them on for now.”
“Thanks, Brother.” I catch Willa looking out the sliding doors and mouth, “Be right there,” at her before turning my back. “Did Radar have any luck with the info I gave him on Willa’s sister?”
“Shit, Dimi. That doesn’t look like a good situation. Radar found out she walked into County Memorial in Delta last Monday, and was treated for two broken ribs she claimed were the result of a fall down the stairs.”
I restrain myself, knowing Willa could still be watching.
“That fucking son of a bitch,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“Yeah,” Yanis agrees. “Apparently when they called in a social worker to talk to her she’d disappeared. No sign from her since. Her phone hasn’t been used since the weekend. Radar’s following up on the numbers she called to see if that’ll give him some direction.”
“Good. I’ll buy him those disgusting Hawaiian pizzas he likes for a year if he can find her.”
“You’re in deep.” He sounds smug, but I don’t give a fuck. Let him laugh. One of these days it’ll be me yanking his chain.
“I’m in all the way, Brother,” I confirm.
“You telling her about her sister?”
“When there’s something to tell.”
I’m not about to let her worry when we don’t know for sure there’s something to worry about. That changes when Radar finds Connie, because I have a feeling the woman will need all the support she can get. She doesn’t even realize yet how lucky she is to have someone like Willa in her corner.
“Everything okay?” she asks, the moment I step through the sliding door.
I keep walking until I have her backed against the counter. Her hands come up to rest on my chest.
“Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”
She rolls her eyes but still slides her hands up and around my neck.
“Oh, all right,” she grumbles, even as she lifts her mouth to mine.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Willa
“Why can’t Twister come with me? Now she has to be all alone at home.”
I take a deep breath. For some reason, Britt decided today was a good day to be obstinate. I adore my niece, but I recognize the stubborn streak she probably inherited from me.
This discussion started over breakfast when she announced she’d be taking the dog to the animal shelter. I tried to explain why that wasn’t a good idea, but she got it in her head Twister would be lonely if we left her by herself. Dimas tried to talk to her, but my niece seems determined.
I’m not sure whether this is just stubbornness, separation anxiety—she’s had the dog as her shadow the entire weekend—or a reaction to all the uncertainties in her life. I suspect probably a bit of all the above.
Dimas is already waiting outside, but Britt is holding us up. Trying to rein in my impatience, I put my hands on her shoulders.
“Listen to me; Twister is perfectly fine staying here for a few hours. I’m sure she won’t mind catching up on some sleep.”
I almost laugh at the determined pout on the twelve-year-old’s face, it hasn’t changed much over the years.
“But—”
“Britt. Enough. Think about it this way. If you bring Twister to the shelter, she might think you’re going to leave her there again.”
Something seems to work behind that stubborn mask and finally she drops it.
“But I’d never do that.”
“I know that, but how is she supposed to know? She’s a dog.”
When we get into the truck, Dimas raises a questioning eyebrow and I respond with a silent roll of my eyes. By the time we reach the Humane Society, Britt’s mood seems to have lifted and she’s eager to get inside.
“I’ll check in with you later,” Dimas says when we stop outside the shelter, pulling me partway over the console to plant a hard kiss on me. “Shep’s gonna keep an eye out.” He points at the man sitting behind the wheel of an old pickup in the parking lot.
“Fine,” I grumble. I don’t really see the need when Brantley Parker is still in police custody and apparently the FBI is on the case, but we’ve already had one tantrum this morning, so I’m not about to add another one.
Dimas mentioned earlier he was going to swing by my place sometime today. He wants to make sure the repairs have been taken care of. Part of me wondered whether that was his way of saying he wants to make sure we can move back home again.
I turn and wave before walking into the shelter, thinking how I’m not all that eager to go back home. The memories of that night still a little too fresh, I guess, but another part is I like sharing space with Dimas, which is a bit of a surprise. I’m sure it would be fine back home, as long as Britt is with me, but it’ll be quiet when it’s just Twister and me.
I duck my head into the dining room and spot Brad sitting by the window, reading the newspaper. Grabbing a coffee, I make my way over to his table.
“Care for some company?”
“Sure.” He folds the newspaper to make room. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you in.”
“How come?”
I pull out a chair and sit across from him.
“I didn’t think Dimas would be ready to let you go.”
I’d almost forgotten Dimas had sought Brad out Friday night when he disappeared.
“I’m not sure he is,” I admit, grinning. “Today’s detail is in a truck outside in the parking lot.” Brad grins as well until I put a hand on his arm. “I came over to thank you for looking after him Friday night.”
“He told you?” Brad seems surprised.
“Enough for me to know you were there for him when he wasn’t ready to talk to me.”
“Goes both ways,” he mumbles, clearly a bit uncomfortable.
“And I’m grateful for that too. I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated how important talking to someone with the same or similar experiences can be. I don’t mean this to sound flippant or dismissive or unfeeling, but I’m so glad you and he have that. Which brings me to the next reason I wanted to touch base with you.”
After pitching my shelter dog idea to Dimas, I spent a lot of time thinking about what he said. Things I need to discuss with Rosie. But something else that has become obvious is the need for someone willing to take on the day-to-day responsibility for the animals. Making sure they’re fed, taken out, well-treated, healthy, etcetera.
“How are you with dogs?” I ask Brad.
“Love dogs. It’s just not easy to keep one when you’re on the street or don’t have your own place.”
“What would you think…” I give Brad my spiel, explaining the idea is still in its infancy, but I wanted to see if he’d be interested in helping with it.
By the time I walk into Rosie’s office—fueled by Brad’s enthusiasm—I’m convinced I can make this work. She was all ears as well, and suggested I check at the nursing facility where her mother resides. Apparently they have a similar program where dogs are brought in for their patients to interact with. According to Rosie, it’s having a positive impact on her mom and other patients.
>
I come out of her office with a notebook already half-filled with my scribbles, a head full of ideas, and a smile on my face.
The day flies by with a productive group session with Brad attending, catching up on things I missed last week, and putting a work-slash-business plan and budget in place for my shelter dog idea.
Before I know it, the clock shows close to four. I’m surprised Dimas hasn’t shown up yet. We texted back and forth a few times during the morning, but now that I think about it, I haven’t heard from him since the group session.
I try calling, but am directed straight to voicemail, so I send a text instead.
Me: You picking me up?
His response is almost immediate.
Dimas: I’ll be tied up a bit longer. I’ll pick up Britt first. You hang tight there. Everything good?
Me: Yeah, fine. xo
Not sure what he’s tied up with, but I don’t want to waste his time asking. I’m sure he’ll tell me later.
I turn my attention back to the notes I was writing on our newest resident’s file. I was pleased he showed up for group this afternoon and actually shared a little of how he ended up on the streets. It usually takes these guys a lot longer than that. He did mention Brad had suggested he show his face, so perhaps I have him to thank for it.
“Aren’t you usually on your way out the door by now?”
I look up to find Ron leaning against the doorpost.
“My ride is a bit delayed,” I share. “Besides…” I smile at him, indicating the file I’m working on. “I still have some notes to finish.”
The smile drops instantly and I freeze when I see a figure I haven’t seen in weeks pass down the hallway behind Ron.
“What’s wrong?”
I motion for him to step inside and close the door.
“Dave Williams. Since when is he back? I haven’t seen him around for a while.”
“Dave? He came in Friday. Said he’d hit a rough spot but wanted to get back on track. Why? You look freaked.”
“That’s because he freaks me out a little. I just don’t like the way he looks at me. So intense.”
