According to the records, they were supposed to return to the zoo this winter.
I hope that still happens.
I hope we can shut that place down and send all the big cats to better homes, away from the filth and the torture that makes Niles and Priscilla disgustingly rich. Her vast designer wardrobe and his retirement home under endless construction in the Virgin Islands didn’t just materialize out of thin air.
A wave of guilt roils my stomach.
There are so many creatures at the rescue needing help. If only I’d had a small ark to take them all.
Not just Bruce, or Sam and Tilda and the other lions, or Churchill the poor MIA chimp.
The list is growing all the time. The Fosses keep importing animals and flipping them for reasons God only knows.
I have to figure out what’s going on, what to do before it’s too late to help any of them.
And I’d bet my life that those little blue stickers are still being attached to cages.
It feels like this constant nagging timer that’s always running—always running out for some unlucky creature.
With a sigh, I walk to the door and exit behind Grady and the girls. At his urging, they hurry toward the house while I wait for him to lock up.
“So did Faulk text you earlier?” I ask.
He nods, squaring his huge shoulders.
“We’ll talk after the girls are asleep.”
A shiver like an army of spiders flits up my neck, wondering if it’s good news or bad.
I can’t blame him for keeping it under wraps.
Even if the girls know about Bruce, they don’t need to know all the sordid, horrifying details of what we’re up against.
Instead of a movie, the girls decide they want to play a game before bed. They pick Yahtzee, and soon all four of us are sitting on pillows around the coffee table, trying to rack up points as we toss dice around the table.
The laughter, the teasing, the fun, is something I’ve been missing since long nights around campfires with Dad. And even that wasn’t quite like this.
Like a family or something.
Sawyer’s words from supper hit true. I’ve never had a family like this either.
When I was young, I always worried Dad would get married again. He’d find a new woman, maybe a woman with kids, and I’d have to learn to fit my lonely self into the patchwork of their lives.
Back then, it scared me. I liked having just the two of us around, but now, as an adult?
I wonder where those thoughts started.
I wonder why they freaked me out.
I wonder what I missed.
Even though Dad never dated seriously, it was never truly the two of us forever.
Nannies became a lovely, supportive third wheel in my life. When I got older, Dad took to calling them live-in housekeepers. He seemed to fear me getting too close, too confused by anyone, even the kind, energetic women and keepers who looked after me during the school year when I couldn’t join him on long trips.
And that’s not counting our travels. We always had good company in fellow researchers, professors so close they felt like kin, and eager-to-impress students on his team.
If his latest research excursion wasn’t finished by the end of summer, I came home on a plane with one of his team members, where our housekeeper was always waiting with a smile, a few soft words, and more cookies than any teenager should’ve had access to.
The lady we’d had the longest was Margo Carlson. Dad hired her on when I was in tenth grade, and she still works for him to this day, even though she just turned seventy-one her last birthday.
We didn’t have a large, tight-knit family.
We had to make do.
So maybe that’s why I wonder as I look around the table, watching how Grady smiles when he reaches across to ruffle the girls’ hair, and then jerks his hand back.
“Dad! No lice, remember? We’ve been shampooed like ten times,” Sawyer reminds him, sticking her tongue out.
“That so, peanut? Guess your old man’s getting forgetful in his old age—or just awfully nervous with cooties.” He sticks his tongue out, eyes crossed, and they laugh.
Behind my giggle, too many questions are swirling.
If I’d been smarter way back then, when I was a kid, would I have hoped my father would remarry so I could’ve had a sister?
Maybe I wouldn’t have grown up so lonely, so driven, too busy for boys or...well, anyone besides big cats.
It’s just adorable how different the girls are. Sawyer and Avery are opposites in many ways, yet deeply connected and concerned for each other.
Sure, they bicker sometimes, like all siblings do. But at the end of the day, they’re sisters until the bitter end, and the love shared in this three-heart family fills whatever gaping hole was left by Grady’s wife.
The rest of the night goes by in a cozy blur.
Avery wins the first game, Sawyer the second, and Grady the third—meaning we’re on for a fourth round.
Of course, I can’t get a win to save my butt.
The other three are flat-out cheating by the end in sympathy, skipping the score, just so I can save face. I’m honored, but no.
“Enough, guys! Luck’s just not on my side tonight. I can barely get a pair, and when I do, it’s not a pair I need. Let’s just call it a draw, okay?” I beam my friendliest smile around the room.
The girls try to convince me to play one more game, but Grady takes control.
“It’s past time for bed, girls,” he says. “You can have a rematch another night.”
“Fiiine!” they slur out together.
Without another complaint, they agree, and after they each give me a quick hug, they head upstairs. He puts the game in the library-office down the hall and then plods upstairs to tell them good night.
I’d left my phone in the kitchen earlier and I check it for messages, holding my breath.
Of course, I haven’t forgotten what Grady’s holding back, and I’m trying to brace myself for bad news.
I just hope it’s bad and not devastating.
But I think he’d have told me if it was the latter, if it was urgent, rather than spending the whole evening enjoying ourselves. My eyes flit over my screen.
Carroll: Is this Willow Macklin? Hi. I’m from North Auckland University and I’d just like to...
Yeah. No. I’ve been to New Zealand and there is no North Auckland U.
Roger’s Pitstop: Congratulations! You’ve got yourself a brand-new thousand dollar gift card to your choice of—
God. Do the gimmicks ever stop? I honestly can’t tell if this is honest spam or another low-effort trap by the Fosses to nail my location.
I see several more fishy texts promising fake giveaways or begging for donations for every cause imaginable. A message from my dentist in California, reminding me my six-month cleaning is due next month, and another text asking me if I’d like to register to vote.
I leave them all unopened.
I’m almost ready to scream and chuck my phone across the room when I see the name Walton on the screen.
Hi, Miss Macklin. Checking in to let you know the blood work looks good. I apologize for the delay. Perfectly average, healthy results for a grown male. No abnormalities. White cell count adequate. I’d attach the full test results, but it appears your carrier’s kicking them back. Call me immediately if he shows signs of discomfort.
Finally, some good news.