Remembering Ransom’s advice, I crept along the roof like a ninja assassin.
“Hey, Ellie,” I whispered as I stole close. She flapped her wings and clucked a string of curses. “Simmer down. I know your universe has imploded, but that’s no way to speak to someone—especially someone trying to save your tail. And I’m sorry, but the great outdoors is not the safest place for a hen to spend the night.” I stretched out my hand. Another flurry of wings and feathers cut the night. I turned to Ransom. He shrugged. Eleanor wasn’t going without a fight.
Think, Vilonia. You earned her trust once.
“Ransom! Throw me your shirt.”
“What? No.”
“Trust me.” I held out my hand.
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “There are cameras down there.”
“Come on. Do it.” I waved my fingers to signal I was waiting. “Your mama will never forgive you if you leave her best laying hen behind.”
He huffed but peeled off his shirt and threw it my way. The soft fabric smelled of sweaty socks and fresh-cut grass. I nodded thanks and inched forward, my legs getting the shakes. Eleanor, however, stared straight ahead. Maybe she was night-blind. In one swift move, I wrapped her wings in Ransom’s shirt like I had with my softball towel the week before.
And when she laid her feathery head against my chest as we made our way down the ladder to cheers and flashing cameras, I’d like to think she forgave me for burning her coop to the ground.
• • •
Once the hens were put in the garage for the night and the fire truck had rolled away, Leon, AC, and I told Deputy Danforth the honest truth of how Max’s memorial skyrocketed from glowing to explosive.
After a few questions, he flipped his notebook shut. “That should do it,” he said. “Why don’t you kids hop in, and I’ll give you a lift home.”
None of us had ridden in a cop car before, but we were too tired to appreciate the excitement.
Daddy met us out front with ice-cold glasses of water. His beard looked grayer, and his eyes wore tired like one of Mama’s faded sweatshirts. Maybe the light from the stars played tricks, but I bet not.
We hopped out, and he and the deputy exchanged a few words.
After the cruiser pulled away, Daddy said, “I don’t know how or where to begin.” A vein in his forehead pulsed. “You guys got lucky. Someone could have been hurt, bad.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, taking my drink. The others nodded. We were too thirsty, tuckered, and plumb terrified to speak.
“Deputy Danforth just filled me in about the fish. A fish!” He sighed like he couldn’t believe a tiny goldfish could cause such calamity.
“Sorry, Daddy,” I whispered. Sweat ran down my back, and I took another sip.
For the first time all evening, I noticed the full moon overhead. It looked distant and small, like an approaching train at the far end of a dark tunnel. A ring of light encircled it.
“Moon halo,” Daddy said. “Rain’s coming.”
The screen door creaked and a voice called, “Hello?”
I could barely make out Mama standing under our flickering porch light. One of Nana’s quilts engulfed her. “Are the kids all right? I’ve made toast.”
My stomach perked up at that magic word, and I licked my lips. One thing Nana had taught Mama that Mama taught me was to never underestimate the comforting powers of perfectly toasted toast.
“They’re fine, Janet. We’ll be right in.”
The door banged shut, and Daddy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “We’ll talk about the fine mess you’ve made in the morning, once I’ve calmed down and everyone’s rested. Now grab some toast, brush your teeth, and hop to bed.”
While my parents discussed our fate on the front porch, we did as we were told. Leon must have felt rotten for firing the rockets in the first place, because he skipped toast altogether, went straight to his room, and locked his door.
Ava Claire took her toast and nicely folded pajamas down the hall to the bathroom. “I’d better bathe first. Neely’s going to be so mad if she hears I’m still awake and filthy.”
I sunk onto my bed, nibbling my toast, not caring whether I brushed my teeth tonight or not. I was exhausted and my heart felt like a wrung-out sponge.
I wasn’t prepared for how tired and angry Daddy would be. Usually he could keep his cool in front of AC, but tonight he had fallen apart like shattered glass. The Willoughbys’ chicken coop was now a smoldering pile of debris and would need to be completely rebuilt. And that cost money we couldn’t spare. And Dolley. Poor Dolley, I hoped Mrs. Willoughby was right that she’d recover.
I tugged off my muddy jeans and slipped into my pajamas. Only when I was tossing my clothes into the hamper did I remember the adoption flyer.
Ray Charles.
I bit my lip. Did I even deserve him after all the damage I’d caused? I took another bite of toast—thick, buttery sourdough, doused in cinnamon and brown sugar. Maybe I no longer deserved Ray Charles, but my mama did. She deserved to get better. We needed her to get better.
And Ray Charles needed a forever home. Shoot, we all needed each other.
The paper crinkled as I smoothed its creases. I studied the phone number, a local one. It clearly stated to call if interested, but the alarm clock on my nightstand said 9:47 p.m. Did I dare call? I hadn’t filled out a proper adoption application, because, well, my parents were against it. And with my luck, the people who’d ripped off the other numbers were in line ahead of me. But this was Ray Charles. At least, I think it was. Would the person who answered the phone even take the time to talk to a kid?
There was one way to find out. As Nana always said, “Here goes something.”
Grabbing the phone, I crept down the stairs and into the laundry room, pulling the door shut behind me. The dryer rocked back and forth, tossing a load of towels. The mechanical whine provided the right amount of humming to mask my voice, good since my parents were still up. I hopped on top of the machine and took a deep breath. My fingers shook as I dialed each number. Pressing the phone to my ear, I waited for the ring. My heels kicked the front of the machine. Thud, thud, thud. A ring.
“Chicken,” I said to myself. “Okay, this time’s for real.”
I dialed again. I closed my eyes, waiting. It rang. Once. Twice. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pajamas.
“Hello?” a lady answered. She sounded youngish. A television blared in the background.
“Uh. Hi,” I said. Don’t be a dork. Don’t be a dork. “I’m calling about the flyer at Pete’s Pets? For the dog?”
“Yes,” she said. The background noise stopped. “About Izzy? What would you like to know?”
“Well, is he still available?” I asked, pretty sure I sounded exactly like a dork.
“Yes. But he’s not quite ready for a new home.”
“Oh?” Something in the back of my mind told me I knew this voice.
“Still needs his shots, and his mama rejected him, so he’s bottle fed.” She gave a big sigh, like this last bit of information annoyed her and kept her from painting her nails or finishing her favorite show. Or maybe she was put out that the mama rejected her own pup. “But he’s a sweetheart. He even has a heart-shaped button nose.”
Ray Charles! I knew it.
“Right.” I tried to not get my hopes up. “How would I go about adopting him?”
“Well”—her voice took on a friendly tone—“for starters, you’d need to come in and meet him and fill out an application either in person or online, if you haven’t already. And at least one adult member of the family must visit him too. Preferably, we’d like to see how he gets along with the entire family, but someone over the age of eighteen must be present.”
“Okay,” I said, like that was no big deal. “What if my parents work?”
“We have weekend hours. And I’ll have a booth with a few of our dogs at the Catfish Festival.”
The Festival! My heart picked up.
“Will Izzy be there?” I scrunched my face up at the name they’d given him. Ray Charles was so not an Izzy.
“Hmm. It will depend on how he’s doing that day, and if anyone else adopts him between now and then. But probably not.”
“Oh.” My voice deflated. “So you’ve had other calls.”
“A few. And some forms in the queue. But Izzy’s small, and it’s our job to match him with the best home.”
“Yeah. I was hoping that’d be ours. My parents are working the festival, and I know once they saw him, they’d see his potential.”
The lady didn’t say anything for a moment. “Maybe he can visit for a few moments, later in the evening.”
“Oh, that’d be great!” I tried not to squeal. It was hard.
“I’m not making any promises, though.”
“Gotcha. And what website has the application form?”
“The Howard County Animal Shelter dot org.”
“Got it. Thanks!” I said, a little too chipper.
“No problem,” the lady said. “What did you say your name was?”
My name! “Oh. My friends call me Vi.”
“Well, Vi. Do you have any other questions?”
“Probably, but it’s past my bedtime. Kids my age need ten to eleven hours of sleep a night for optimal health and growth.”
“Well, thanks for calling. Buh-bye.”
Click.
Buh-bye? Hadn’t I heard that somewhere before?
“Good-bye,” I replied, even though she’d already disconnected. “And by the way, the best home is ours.” I slid off the dryer and marched upstairs to bed, happy and full of hope. If I couldn’t bring Ray Charles home to Mama and Daddy, then maybe I could bring them to Ray Charles. I now had two missions to complete at the Catfish Festival. 1) Win a goldfish. 2) Adopt a dog.