she’s in the mood to play. I give in for about a minute, but then it’s time to move on to more important things.
I put on my backpack in case I find some food, pick up Cassie, and tuck her under my arm. We head for the ramp leading up to Level 2. Before we round the corner I glanceback at the Nova. I get this terrible feeling I’m making a huge mistake.
I should have left a note.
Level 2 is as bad as Level 1. There’s a line of wrecked cars. I count fifteen. Some cars never made it out of their parking spots. All the cars, whether wrecked or not, have smashed windows. I decide this is no place for Cassie. I head up to Level 3.
Not as many cars here. I figure this is about as far as I should go. Cassie starts to mew and I don’t know why, so I walk over to a car and put her on the hood. She sits there blinking at me like I can read her mind. But at least she’s quiet. I look through the broken window to see what’s left. Not much. Pieces of paper, an empty Starbucks cup, glass everywhere. I open the door and look around and under the seats. This person must have liked McDonald’s. I find eight French fries wedged between seats and five small plastic tubes of ketchup in a sandwich baggie. I eat the French fries the second I find them. Cold and stiff, but the salt tastes good. I decide to save the packages of ketchup in case I find something to eat that’s so disgusting I need some flavor to help choke it down. That’s the way it worked at my house whenever Mom cooked liver.
Cassie starts to mew again. It’s actually pretty loud, which is the last thing I need. She’s like a little siren announcing,
Here we are! Here we are!
I could put her in the car and shut the door, but that feels mean.
“All right,” I say in an almost-whisper. “I get it. You’re hungry. Well, guess what? So am I. But you don’t have to blab it to everyone in the garage.” I look around at all the empty cars. “Okay, so no one’s here now, but that could change.” That just stirs her up even more.
The ketchup gives me an idea. I pick her up, open the door, brush off the glass, and put her on the passenger seat. Then I tear open one of the tubes and squeeze it onto the beige fabric right in front of her. The color reminds me of the blood I saw on the headrest in the SUV.
“What are you waiting for?” I say.
Amazingly, Cassie sniffs it, looks back at me, then starts licking. She must be
really
hungry. I close the door and back away. Now I can search the cars in peace.
I start working my way through the smashed-up line. Each car has a story to tell. The first one belongs to a woman who likes to cook. There are plastic purple and yellow flowers on the dashboard and at least fifty recipes for cupcakes typed on green three-by-five cards wrapped together with a rubber band. I leave the recipes—all they do is make me hungrier—but I keep the rubber band. She must also have a kid, probably a boy, because there is a small red duffel in the backseat with two pairs of underwear, some rolled-up socks, and a pair of camo pants. The pants are a little big, but who cares? I figure all those pockets might come in handy. I make a trade—the pants for my sweats. Pink—he’ll like that, I’m sure.
Next up is a blue Toyota pickup truck with a smashed front end. I figure it’s owned by a tall, nervous man witha hot girlfriend. The driver’s seat is way back, the ashtray is full of cigarette butts without any lipstick, and there’s a greeting card with a black-and-white picture on the front of a woman with too much makeup and huge boobs. She’s wearing a bikini and standing next to an elephant and talking on a cell phone. The printed message on the inside of the card says: Don’t forget! The handwriting underneath, all slanty and pretty, says:
to call me when you get to the hotel—947-0120. Can’t wait, Jen.
The card still smells like perfume. I find sixteen kernels of cheesy popcorn and half a stick of peppermint gum in the
I put on my backpack in case I find some food, pick up Cassie, and tuck her under my arm. We head for the ramp leading up to Level 2. Before we round the corner I glanceback at the Nova. I get this terrible feeling I’m making a huge mistake.
I should have left a note.
Level 2 is as bad as Level 1. There’s a line of wrecked cars. I count fifteen. Some cars never made it out of their parking spots. All the cars, whether wrecked or not, have smashed windows. I decide this is no place for Cassie. I head up to Level 3.
Not as many cars here. I figure this is about as far as I should go. Cassie starts to mew and I don’t know why, so I walk over to a car and put her on the hood. She sits there blinking at me like I can read her mind. But at least she’s quiet. I look through the broken window to see what’s left. Not much. Pieces of paper, an empty Starbucks cup, glass everywhere. I open the door and look around and under the seats. This person must have liked McDonald’s. I find eight French fries wedged between seats and five small plastic tubes of ketchup in a sandwich baggie. I eat the French fries the second I find them. Cold and stiff, but the salt tastes good. I decide to save the packages of ketchup in case I find something to eat that’s so disgusting I need some flavor to help choke it down. That’s the way it worked at my house whenever Mom cooked liver.
Cassie starts to mew again. It’s actually pretty loud, which is the last thing I need. She’s like a little siren announcing,
Here we are! Here we are!
I could put her in the car and shut the door, but that feels mean.
“All right,” I say in an almost-whisper. “I get it. You’re hungry. Well, guess what? So am I. But you don’t have to blab it to everyone in the garage.” I look around at all the empty cars. “Okay, so no one’s here now, but that could change.” That just stirs her up even more.
The ketchup gives me an idea. I pick her up, open the door, brush off the glass, and put her on the passenger seat. Then I tear open one of the tubes and squeeze it onto the beige fabric right in front of her. The color reminds me of the blood I saw on the headrest in the SUV.
“What are you waiting for?” I say.
Amazingly, Cassie sniffs it, looks back at me, then starts licking. She must be
really
hungry. I close the door and back away. Now I can search the cars in peace.
I start working my way through the smashed-up line. Each car has a story to tell. The first one belongs to a woman who likes to cook. There are plastic purple and yellow flowers on the dashboard and at least fifty recipes for cupcakes typed on green three-by-five cards wrapped together with a rubber band. I leave the recipes—all they do is make me hungrier—but I keep the rubber band. She must also have a kid, probably a boy, because there is a small red duffel in the backseat with two pairs of underwear, some rolled-up socks, and a pair of camo pants. The pants are a little big, but who cares? I figure all those pockets might come in handy. I make a trade—the pants for my sweats. Pink—he’ll like that, I’m sure.
Next up is a blue Toyota pickup truck with a smashed front end. I figure it’s owned by a tall, nervous man witha hot girlfriend. The driver’s seat is way back, the ashtray is full of cigarette butts without any lipstick, and there’s a greeting card with a black-and-white picture on the front of a woman with too much makeup and huge boobs. She’s wearing a bikini and standing next to an elephant and talking on a cell phone. The printed message on the inside of the card says: Don’t forget! The handwriting underneath, all slanty and pretty, says:
to call me when you get to the hotel—947-0120. Can’t wait, Jen.
The card still smells like perfume. I find sixteen kernels of cheesy popcorn and half a stick of peppermint gum in the
Similar Books
