Page 13 of Easton
“Okay.” I nod. “I was going to see if I could get off early…just like an hour or so. I have something I need to do.”
I should just tell him. Everything doesn’t have to be top secret fucking information, but for some reason, with me, it does.
“It’s important,” I add. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.” I’ve fucked up a lot in this job with Dusty—been late too many times to count, had days I didn’t show up or call in and other times I called out. I started trying to be better before Morgan came back, but even more since then, and especially since Dusty thought he was going to move to California with my brother and wanted me to run his shop, I’ve been trying even harder. In some ways, Dusty has been there for me more than anyone.
Archer too, Ella reminds me.
I grin.Not now, brat.
Who knew dead sisters could try and be matchmakers? Ignoring the fact that she’s all in my head, which means…a part of me is trying to matchmake myself. I file that information away in theignorefolder in my brain.
“East?”
Fuck. I must have zoned out again. “It’s important, Dusty,” I reiterate.
“Okay. That’s fine. I believe you. Plus, you watched the shop while I was gone. I figure I can let you get off early to do whatever mysterious shit it is you’re doing.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not mysterious.” Then why oh why don’t I tell him? “How’s Morgan? Still stupid in love with you?” I tease.
“Same as he was this morning when you asked me that, brat.”
My thoughts stumble over hearing him call me the same thing I’d just called Ella. It makes me feel close to her, which is ridiculous. I don’t understand the things that go on in my head sometimes, but at nearly twenty-eight, I’m not sure I can change them now.
“I’m gonna get back to work early,” I say.
“You can finish lunch.”
I ignore him, which makes me seem like a dick, but we both know I’m not going to do what he said. It’s easier if he thinks it’s just me being difficult like I always am than him knowing it’s because I feel bad leaving early and want to make it up to him.
I work hard to get as much done as I can. When Dusty offered to hire me, it was because he wanted to keep an eye on me, and he knew that most other people in Birchbark were tired of dealing with my shit. The thing is, I’ve somehow fallen in love with auto body work. I’ve always been good with my hands—and not as smart as Morgan, Rhett, or Gregory. I can’t think of him as theDword anymore, not since that night at the jail. I’d already been keeping my distance from him, but now that I’m not a Swift according to him, I figure it’s time to turn off whatever quiet hope I might have had. The hardest part, though, is I feel bad for Rhett. He’s always looked up to Gregory—actually, I’m not sure that’s what it is. Sometimes I wonder if Rhett is more lost than even me, needing to prove himself to a man I can’t say he ever even liked. He wanted to, wanted so hard to believe Gregory was someone he wasn’t, and I don’t understand why. Now Rhett’s barely talking to any of us, has quit his job, stopped running for mayor, and who the fuck knows what he’s doing with his life. I never thought there would be a world where I would be employed and Rhett wouldn’t.
Dusty is painting, and I sneak in to tell him goodbye, then head home for Pretty Girl. The second I walk in the door, she’s all over me, licking and jumping. I should probably teach hersome manners, but I like her excitement, her joy for life. She and I have both been through a lot, but she knows how to be thankful she’s still around, and I haven’t mastered that yet. All I know is Pretty Girl is a party of one when it comes to people who are always happy to see me, who love me unconditionally and don’t look at me like I’m broken. And I know I am, but she either doesn’t see it or doesn’t care.
“I think we’ll get you a brother today. Would you like that?” I ask her as she slips and falls, which is due to an old leg injury. One leg is a little shorter than the other three and sometimes gives out, but she’s not in pain. I make sure of that every time I take her to the vet. Like always, she gets up again and gives me loves.
I grab the leash but don’t put it on her yet, then take her out to go potty. Once she’s done, I strap her into her dog seat belt so she’s safe while we drive to the animal shelter.
“They didn’t tell me much about him, but I’m sure he’s a good boy,” I tell her. “We’re gonna save him. He’s gonna need his big sister to show him the ropes.” I don’t even know if Pretty Girl is older than him, but to me, she’ll be his big sister.
She leans in and licks my face, which makes me smile.
I continue talking to her like she’s a damn person the whole way to the shelter. Animals and my dead sister are the only ones with whom I feel comfortable speaking freely.
When we get out of the vehicle at the shelter, I let Pretty Girl pee again before we go inside.
“Hey, Easton. I haven’t seen you in a while,” the guy at the counter says. I can’t remember his name, but I’ve seen him off and on when I come in to volunteer.
“Yep,” I reply, then tell him I’m here to see Bailey. That she has a dog for me.
They put me in a room where they take people to spend time with the dogs. Pretty Girl stays close to my side, and when I sit on the chair, she tries to jump into my lap.
“Hey…it’s okay. I’m not leaving you here. You don’t ever have to stay in this place again.” I nuzzle into her neck, pet her, make sure she knows she’s loved.
A few minutes later, Bailey, this really pretty woman with box braids, opens the door. “Can we come in?”
“Yeah, of course.” I slide onto the floor, hugging Pretty Girl close, watching as Bailey brings in a black dog with a white spot on his chest. He’s skinny, too fucking skinny. He looks like he has some Lab in him, but I’m not sure what else. He’s beat up, similarly to how Pretty Girl was, and one of his eyes is closed in a way that doesn’t look like it opens.
“He had some trauma to his left eye and lost it. It couldn’t be saved. Sometimes he has some equilibrium issues, still adjusting to seeing out of one eye, but he’s doing well, aren’t you?” She gives him loves.