The next day, I decide to get a pet.
I'm not sure what kind yet. All that I know is that I'm getting one.
In total, I'd say I get about two hours of sleep that night, which is good considering my late arrival home, a long time of sorting through my raging thoughts, and the long over-text conversation I had with Parker and Jackie. They woke up and replied the moment they heard their phones ding. Apparently, they'd both agreed to turn them off silent in case I texted in the early hours of the day, needing something.
We all made a pact.
We were going to do everything it took to scratch every item off that list.
Every.
One.
It's five-thirty when I walk out the door. Mom's not up—which is good because I don't want her to know about the list—and Maggy's still conked out, snoring softly when I pass by her door.
Typically, on a Sunday morning, everybody stays in bed until church starts around ten. The only people that I pass by on the nearly-empty streets are the ones who don't seem fortunate to have a job that lets you off on Sunday. Multiple dads drives by in their Ford trucks and I feel like I've briefly had the air knocked out of me.
My dad had no work on Sundays.
We'd go to church like all the other families in small Ashdown, Arkansas, and sing the old, southern hymns. We'd listen to Preacher Marcus talk for exactly forty-five minutes and then rush to the nearest barbecue restaurant like every other family. Over smoked sausage and shiny red barbecue sauce, we'd discuss what we got out of the sermon—my parents way of telling if Maggy and I had actually payed attention and not just gazed across the pew at whatever cute boy was smiling at us. At the end of lunch, Dad always said, "Well, God bless Copeland and Margaret. And I'll be darned if we don't do this again next week."
But that was a long time ago.
I don't feel so blessed anymore.
My memories od Dad don't fade when I turn to the road that will lead me downtown Ashdown. I see him on every sidewalk, laughing and holding a much younger, carefree me. I always considered him "my parent". It was no big secret that Mom adored Maggy just a hair more than she'd ever admired me. Of course, she still loved me. I know that. But Maggy had—and still has—something about her that I never did.
So it was Dad and me against the world.
My eyes blur with tears, but I don't notice it until there's a loud screeching of tires and an angry honk of a horn. I whip my head to my left and see a truck stopped inches away from me and a furious man rolls down his window, yelling things that I wince at hearing.
"WATCH WHERE YER GOIN'!" he finishes with, his eyebrows like two dark storm clouds above his eyes.
I realize: I almost got run over.
"S-sorry!" I stammer, holding my hands up. "S-sorry!"
He grumbles and his window climbs back up. He waits impatiently for me to move, looking like he'd enjoy nothing more than turning me into a Copeland-Pancake baking right here on the street. My legs are shaking when I force them to move. I can't lost my focus like that again. My mom doesn't need to dead daughters and a runaway husband.
I thought he loved her.
I thought he loved us.
I thought he loved me.
I think I might be sick, right here, right next to the man's truck tires. Wouldn't he appreciate that?
But he doesn't matter, my father. He doesn't matter anymore.
What matters is Maggy and her list. And I'm getting her a pet.
The pet store doesn't open until six-thirty. My walk here took about half an hour so I only have another thirty minutes to wait. While I do, I buy myself a bagel with a heaping amount of strawberry cream cheese from the bakery across the street and I sit on the cobblestone to wait patiently for the pet shop owner.
She's a short woman with spiked red hair who tells me to call her Mandy, and she gives me a coupon for my "grit".
"True pet lovers will do anythin' for their pets," she tells me passionately. "Including wakin' up at the crack of dawn and wait for the shop to open, all while sufferin' through Owen's excuse for a bagel!" she eyes my chin critically and I wipe it with the back of my hand, blushing when I find it smeared with strawberry cream cheese.
Mandy unlocks the door and flicks the light switch, bathing the shop in light. Immediately, there is a cacophony of noise, all ranging from a bird's high warble to the low rumble of a Doberman.
Mandy tends to the animals while I look around. What should I get for Maggy? As much as I'd like to get her something big like a dog or a cat, I know Mom would never allow that, and she'd make me take it back. I can picture my sister's crushed expression vividly. No, it's probably better to opt for something smaller. And besides, my allowance ain't anything fancy.
"So...whatcha lookin' for?"
Mandy's voice startles me and I turn to find her carefully scrutinizing me.
"Something for my sister," I tell her. "Small and cheap, preferably. And easy to clean up after."
She nods, pondering my options. As she walks around the cages of various animals, she mutters to herself. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes light up. "I know just the thing!"
Twenty minutes later, I walk out the door, carrying a small cage containing something I never would've thought was—in Mandy's words—"charming, charismatic, and the best pet to ever be owned!"
In the cage, I carry a gecko. Yes, a gecko.
I've decided to call him Geck. Because that's the sound he's making in the back of his throat, convincing me that he's about to start hacking up every vital organ in his pathetic little body. But Mandy assured me that it's just his way of saying hi.
He's been saying hi for a very long time.
Maggy can name the little terror whatever she wants, but I'm calling him Geck.
Before I left, Mandy made me promise to stop by or call her if anything went wrong. She gave me a business card which Geck spewed slobber on.
I'm about fed up with my purchase by the time I make it to Jackie's. She's still in her lacy pajamas when she greets me at the door. Her hair is pulled back by a lobster clip and her eyes are framed by dark glasses.
"Howdy," she says.
I hold up Geck's cage in response. He makes a rude sound and Jackie crinkles her nose. "Pleasure," she says, bending down to inspect him.
"I know, right?"
We go inside and I can't help but feel the usual twinge of jealousy that always accompanies me when I enter Jackie's house.
House is an understatement.
It's really closer to a mansion. Well, as close to a mansion as you can get in Ashdown.
The floor is made of cool, gray tile and we turn to the staircase that draws the pathway to Jackie's bedroom.
She settles into her desk chair and I go right to the fuchsia beanbag that I always claim. Geck gets a special spot. Right on the floor.
"So," Jackie draws out the word, drumming her painted nails on her desk. For having lots of brothers, Jackie is very ladylike, but pick a fight with her and you will go down.
"So," I repeat, momentarily unsure of how to respond."
Her heavy sigh breaks the suffocating silence. "How's Mags?"
I blink harshly. "You know...She's really hanging in there."
"And the list? What are you gonna do about that?"
"We talked about this. What do you mean?"
"I mean how are you gonna pull it off?"
"It's not that hard," I tell her. "Banana splits? Ear piercing? Jackie, you were there."
She gives me a look and twitches her fingers the same way she does when she's nervous. "Copeland, you know that's not what I mean. And I've been thinking about it...we were all really tired. We really need to think about this."
I knead my fist into the beanbag and the fabric closes around my wrist. "Jackie, I came here because I thought you wanted to help me."
"Hey, you know I want to."
I don't look at her.
"Copeland," she implores and I snap my head towards her.
"What?" I demand. "Because if you're just going to list reasons why this won't work, I really don't want to hear it."
"That's not fair," she frowns. "But you know that you haven't fully thought this through. What about Fairbanks, huh? How're you gonna manage that?"
The crashing reality comes over me as I whisper, "I don't know."
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