Page 68 of Wayward
“Have you called Animal Control about the iguanas?”
“Pardon?”
“The ones living in the sauna.”
Jesus. “I had no idea there was a sauna.”
“Yeah. Behind the pools.”
“Okay, well, the answer is no. Not yet.”
She nodded.
“They can’t be her iguanas, can they?”
“Well, they live about twenty years, so I doubt they’re the same ones she brought with her or, you know, someone brought with them. They’ve probably been breeding down there.”
“Great.”
“My son runs an iguana sanctuary in Warrenton. I can give him a call if you want.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head.
“Yes, please. I would love you to give him a call.”
“Okay, good. Now listen: you need a new roof, and maybe a landscaper.”
“Perhaps,” I said sarcastically.
She chuckled. “You’re a wiseass, just like my husband.”
“It’s been said,” I agreed.
“I don’t wanna tell you your business, but…you either need a helluva lot more sheep or, like, five guys with machetes,” she said, grinning at me. “And my money’s on snakes in the front. My son also takes in snakes if you want him to check.”
“That would be great.”
“It might cost you a donation to the sanctuary, since he’s wrangling at that point.”
“Wrangling?”
“You know, picking up snakes and lizards and getting them all together.”
“Ah. Herding. Got it.”
“Will that be okay?”
“Yep. Not a problem.”
“Excellent.” She was beaming at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever met such an agreeable man.”
Twice in one day. Unbelievable.
I told Gale at dinner.
“Was that news to you?” he teased me as he took another slice of pepperoni pizza. I noticed that he had yet to touch his salad. “Have others not thought of you as agreeable?”
