Page 135 of The Initial Insult

He grabs me by my upper arm, pulling me to my feet. “I told you—”

“You weren’t coming,” I say. “And the guy’s got a cage and . . .” I think of the shriek I heard, unable to place it. “And there’s something in it.”

Cecil lets go of my arm. “All right, hang on.” He goes over to the electrical box, unplugs the wiring and climbs over the fence. My gaze slides off him and over to the green rows. These are shorter. It’s not ragweed, and the skunk smell is stronger down here. Way stronger.

“C’mon, girl,” Cecil yells at me. “Get moving.”

I scale the fence, following in Cecil’s footsteps as we head back to the house, Goldie constantly shoving her nose into my hand, looking for reassurance that I’m okay . . . or maybe that she’ll be okay, that I’ll protect her.

“What is it?” I ask, breathless. “What’s in the truck?”

“Surprise,” Cecil says. “Little something some guy needed to get rid of.”

More like it wants rid of him, I think as we come up into the yard, and the truck shakes on its wheels as whatever’s in the cage makes a lunge at the guy, standing off to the side.

The men shake hands, and Cecil slips him a sandwich bag full of something, then they’re backing up to the new enclosure, the one opposite Rue’s. She starts yelling at them, and throwing some of her stored fruit. An overripe peach bounces off the passenger-side window, splatting all over.

“Shut her up!” Cecil yells at me, but there’s not much I can do. Rue’s got a whiff of what’s in the cage, and she doesn’t like it. She’s all the way at the top of her tree, yelling and letting everyone know she’s not happy about the new development. In the paddock, Zee and Dee have already fled to the far corner, nuzzling together for comfort.

Cecil pulls the gate to the new enclosure open, and the guy backs the truck up as close as he can, the edge of the cage just inside. He cuts the engine, gets into the back of the truck—bringing a high yowl of complaint from inside the cage. Then he climbs on top of it, reaching through the fence of the enclosure to open the cage’s latch.

There’s a clang of metal on metal, a dark streak, and then a puff of dirt as the animal—a panther—slides to a halt, changing directions fast when he sees the man’s hand is still inside the cage. The cat lunges, but he pulls back just in time, laughing a little to cover his fear.

“Bastard almost got me,” he tells Cecil, sweat rolling off his forehead.

The cat retreats to a corner, growling low in its chest as the truck pulls away. Cecil swings the door shut quickly, snapping a lock down on it. I didn’t realize I was backed up all the way against Rue’s cage until her arm snakes out. In a second, I’m smashed against the fence, wire cutting into my cheek, Rue’s iron grip not letting me pull away. The men don’t notice. They’re headed toward the house, Cecil cracking open a beer.

Shit, shit, shit. Cecil was right, she’s going to tear my face off. Her smell is strong, like body odor and a wet dog, all in one. Goldie is going nuts, barking and yelping. She jumps, biting at Rue’s arms, but the orangutan grabs her with one hand and gives her a toss. Goldie yelps and rolls, a spray of dirt rising up behind her. The cat follows the movement, lunging against his own bars to get a swipe in as Goldie skids to a halt, inches away from his claws.

“Rue,” I say, swallowing hard. “Please . . .”

One of her hands lets go, but the other is still holding me firmly against the cage. Her free hand flips through my hair, searching, scurrying. She pinches down, pulls her hand back, inspects something between her fingers and pops it in her mouth. I’ve seen her do this before—Cecil said Goldie’s flea medication was too damn expensive and the o-rang-o-tangy could clean her up just fine. It had taken a leash and a lot of calm words on my part, but I’d talked Goldie into sitting still while Rue groomed her, taking advantage of the free snacks at the same time.

Just like she’s doing to me right now.

“Oh my God,” I say, my words as squished as my face, jammed against the fence. “Do I have lice, Rue?”

The only answer I get is the shit-eating grin, as she pops another one into her mouth. Goldie gets her feet back under her and scampers away from the cat’s cage, calmer now that she sees that Rue doesn’t mean me any harm. She cowers next to me, pushing against my leg as I bend my head, letting Rue inspect me. The orangutan reaches out, gives my dog an apologetic pat as her other hand works through my hair, picking me clean.

I slide down to the ground, resting against the cage, Rue’s fingers moving through my hair, mesmerizing. I repeat the action, ruffling Goldie’s fur. She tucks her head into my armpit, pushing forward into me for comfort. I burrow my face into her neck, parting her hair, trying to get down past the smell of the pens and the shit, past the present. Because if I breathe deep enough, I can still pick up the faint traces of shampoo from her last visit to the groomer. And underneath that, if I concentrate, I can smell my mother.

Chapter 37

Felicity

Sixth Grade

“Mom?” I call down the stairs, fingernails digging into my scalp. “Mom? Do we have any dandruff shampoo?”

“What? No,” Mom says hurriedly, as she comes around the corner. “Have you seen my keys?”

“They’re on the table,” I say, pointing toward the groceries she just brought home—everything organic and gluten- and cruelty- and antibiotic-free. Dad says they’re also taste- and fun-free, to which Mom said last night that at least they can eat their dinner without guilt. I can’t. But that’s got nothing to do with what’s on my plate.

“Okay,” Mom says, grabbing her keys. “You ready?”

“Ready?” I ask, still scratching. “For what?”

“You’ve got an appointment with Dr. Gabriella today, remember? I made the appointment after . . . after your birthday party.”