Remembering that my pantry mostly consists of half a box of Triscuits, I stop by the grocery store on my way home. I don't know what I want, but I'm guessing I should chase the bourbon with something.
I'm pondering cheese selections, staring at the labels without really seeing them, when someone touches my arm.
"Meghan? Oh my God - it's been forever."
"Shelly?" I force a smile, turning to her. "Wow. Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it?"
"I wondered were you'd been," she says. "Just busy at work?"
Nodding, I set down a block of Monterey Jack. "It just keeps getting crazier. I've got absolutely no life. But hey, you know, at least I'm not getting into trouble."
Ha.
"That's good, that's good." There's a certain exhaustion in her eyes, a hollowness, and I'm afraid to ask.
"How's the shelter?" I say, finally.
"Good, good." She doesn't sound convincing. "The animals are all doing great. I just recently brought in a kitten someone found in a box in the woods. If you can believe that. I don't know what possesses people."
My heart twists. "Jesus. At least Misty was in someone's yard."
Shelly nods. "She still got lucky, though. Being find." She smiles. "Finding you."
It's been almost a year, but I still don't want to talk about Misty.
"Is that everything?" I ask her. "You look like that's…not everything."
A shadow passes over her face. "It's bad, Meghan. Things have gotten pretty messy since you left. I've been trying to keep things organized, but…long story short, we've been served with an eviction notice. I don't know what I'm going to do. The animals…"
She pauses, and I gape at her. "What? How?"
"We've been pushing back on some out-of-date fire code violation for months now, because we don't have the money to fix it. It's not actually dangerous, the city's just trying to bleed more money for inspections, but I guess one of the volunteers lost some paperwork that should have gone in the mail, and now suddenly we're being kicked out on our ass." She shakes her head. "We just ran out the clock, that's all. Something so stupidly simple, and now…I can't take any more of them in. I'm skirting hoarding laws as it is. You know I take care of them, I'd never neglect an animal, but all the city looks at is numbers. There's no place for them to go. All the no-kill shelters are packed to the gills already. There's just not enough space in this damn city."
Her eyes are shining with tears, and she swipes them away with the back of her hand. "Anyway. I don't need to dump all my troubles on you. If we manage to pull through this somehow, there'll always be a spot for you." She manages a smile. "Everybody misses you."
"I miss them, too," I admit. "I miss all of it. I wish I had time to volunteer, but…"
"I understand." She touches my arm. "Please, don't feel like you need to make excuses. I'm still astounded that anyone's willing to work for free at all, let alone put in as many hours as you did. You've racked up enough positive energy to carry you through the next couple lifetimes."
Our conversation stays with me as I go through the checkout line with a random assortment of items, thinking of Shelly, thinking of all my friends there. Thinking of the animals.
Thinking of Misty.
I can't let this happen. I won't.
If it's a question of money to find a new location, or just to fix up the existing one…well, it so happens my boss is a billionaire. And he seems to be feeling a bit guilty at the moment.
But no, I can't. As much as I can't bear the thought of all those animals ending up in a kill-shelter, or worse - I have the distinct feeling that bringing this to Adrian as some kind of personal favor will just end in twenty minutes of cat-lady jokes. No matter how bad he feels, he won't be able to pass up that opportunity.
Of course, there is another way.
We get letters from charities all the time, and screening them is part of my job. I could draft something up, make it look convincing, and be sure to handle all the go-between stuff myself so Shelly won't realize what I've done. I don't want to deal with a bunch of awkward thank-yous and teary hugs; that's not really my scene. I just need to make sure the animals are okay.
Yeah, that'll work. Adrian won't be suspicious. He doesn't even know about Misty. When she got sick, and I had to miss work for an emergency vet appointment, I claimed I had stomach flu. I just knew he wouldn't understand. This, though, is easy. He just has to write a check. There's no need to try and comprehend human emotions.
It's a good plan.
Chapter Six
ARCHIVED ITEMS: MORE THAN ONE MONTH OLD
From: [email protected]
I managed not to cry until I got home today.
Damn it. I really, really hate this guy. I hate how he gets under my skin. It's like he always knows all the right buttons to push. I'm sorry, I don't mean to dump on you. It's just that I'm getting to the end of my rope, you know? I don't know how much longer I can do this.
From: [email protected]
I'm so sorry, Meg. I wish I knew something I could say to make it better.
I'm sure he didn't mean to make you cry. He'd probably feel terrible if he knew. Picture this: your big, bad boss cracking open a bottle of whiskey and drinking himself into a blackout because he saw how upset you were and he hates being the cause of it, but he doesn't know how else to act. I almost wrote a scene like that for Dirk, you know, but I thought it seemed too soft.
Hey, you know what's not a bad book title: Billionaires Don't Cry. Nope, on second thought, that's terrible.
You know, you could quit. I know you feel like you can't, but if it's as bad as you say, maybe you just need a fresh start. I'm sure he'd find somebody new to torment. I mean, nothing would be as satisfying as tormenting you, no doubt. But he'd do all right.
From: [email protected]
Heh. I don't know. I think about quitting every single day of my life, but I can never seem to make it happen. I'll think about it some more.
How did you know he drinks whiskey?
From: [email protected]