Acting Out (5 page)

Brenna breaks the silence. “Listen, I’ll research what I can on that poisoning in Philadelphia and get back to everyone,” she says.

“I’ll help,” I pipe up.

Maggie and I put in a long afternoon cleaning
cages in the clinic. I forgot how much I hate doing this. It’s so gross! Maggie doesn’t seem to mind at all, whistling as she goes. Gran is nowhere to be seen, but that’s okay because there’s plenty for us to do. By the time we’re done cleaning cages, it’s time to feed the kittens again. They all look better, stronger, and even cuter.

It’s after nine at night when Gran comes into the clinic to call us to the dinner table. She must be pretty distracted—usually she would never let us go that long without a meal. Maggie and I follow her to the kitchen, where Gran picks up a wooden spoon and starts stirring something in a pot on the stove. She looks concerned, but I have something on my mind, too.

“Gran, did Mom call for me?” I ask, trying to keep the hope in my voice from being too obvious.

“Haven’t heard from her. But, Zoe, remember the time difference. Your mother is probably just finishing up work. It’s early evening in California.”

“Vancouver. She’s filming in Vancouver,” I say.

“You’re right. But it’s the same time zone, Zoe,” Gran says gently.

I look at the clock. It’s nine-twenty here. Six-twenty on the West Coast. Mom’s had plenty of time to consider calling her daughter. I’ve only talked to her once since she left, and that was only
for a minute before she got called on set.

Gran taps the spoon on the side of the pot. I get a whiff of its contents. Oh no, canned tomato soup. I need to start cooking again.

Maggie reaches into her backpack and pulls out a bag of gummy bears. “Want some?” she asks me. I shake my head no.

“The lab called tonight. They gave me Puff’s results,” Gran sighs.

Maggie straightens up and stops chewing her candy.

“Ethylene glycol was in Puff’s system. It’s what killed her.” Gran rubs her forehead. “Such a shame, so preventable.” She stirs the soup again.

Maggie lets out a breath. “Ethylene glycol, like Mr. Garcia’s dog last December?”

Gran nods.

I have no idea what this ethel whatever stuff is. I want to ask Gran, but she looks a little bit angry. Instead, I look over at Maggie. Maggie looks mad, too. So I just wait it out.

Gran stirs. Maggie scowls. Finally, I stand.

“Okay,” I say, “let me at least take over the soup.”

Gran concedes and allows me to take the spoon from her. I go to the spice cabinet and find thyme and black pepper and sprinkle them in. Maggie gets bowls and napkins from the cupboard, and she and Gran sit at the table.

I rummage through the refrigerator for the Havarti cheese that I know is in there somewhere. I grab an apple and slice it thin. First the apple slices go on whole-wheat crackers and then the cheese tops them both. I arrange everything on a baking sheet, turn on the broiler, and pop the tray in for a minute. We’ll at least have some fruit, protein, and whole grains to go with this canned soup.

I ladle out the soup and put the crackers on a plate on the table. Maggie and Gran eat without saying anything at all. I know them well. They’ll talk when they get it all figured out in their heads. I pick up a cracker and take a big bite. Yum, at least something is good tonight. It’s warm, sweet, and savory—healthy comfort food. This has to make Gran and Maggie feel a little bit better.

But no one says anything until: “Time for me to head to bed,” Gran says, pushing back from the table. “I’ll call the family first thing in the morning.”

“That’s going to be a hard phone call,” Maggie says.

“Indeed.”

Maggie twists her napkin. Gran crosses her arms over her chest and sighs again. I look from one to the other.

“What?” I can’t stand it any longer. “Why will
this be so hard? Their cat is already dead. How could they feel worse?” I ask.

“Because their cat ingested poison,” Maggie says.

“I know that.”

“Ethylene glycol,” Maggie says. “They may have unintentionally poisoned their own cat.”

“What? Okay. Will someone please explain to me exactly what ethylene glycol is and where the family would have gotten it?” Honestly, I’m so frustrated I could scream!

Maggie looks at me like I haven’t got a brain in my head. “Ethylene glycol. It’s most often used as antifreeze for cars. Puff probably licked it up from their own garage floor or driveway.”

I look to Gran to see if this is true. She nods and says, “It’s dangerous, attractive, and sweet. Even a little can cause death to household pets. Sometimes it drips from the car and puddles on the garage floor or driveway.”

Maggie takes the plates and bowls to the sink. “I’m tired,” she says. “I’m heading to bed.”

Gran nods. She looks tired, too. Then she yelps, “Oh!”

“What?” I can’t imagine what Gran has just thought of.

“I can’t wait until morning to call. They have young children.”

“So, wouldn’t they be in bed by now?” I ask and glance at the clock. “I’m sure their mom wouldn’t wake them up to tell them how Puff died.”

“Children can also be poisoned from antifreeze. Remember, I told you it’s sweet. I can’t take the chance that those kids are in bed now or that they won’t be up early tomorrow. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t call that mother and tell her. She can take a flashlight and look for a leak tonight.” Gran goes to the phone and dials. I hear her explaining things to the mother as I run some water in the sink to soak the dishes.

As I’m cleaning up, I start to wonder if I can help in some way. There is a tickling of an idea at the back of my brain. I know if I sleep on it, I’ll figure it out. At least, I hope so. I write a few notes to myself about research for tomorrow and tumble into bed, exhausted.

D
espite my late bedtime, I’m on the computer researching antifreeze facts before Gran is even up. My thoughts were churning so much, I woke up earlier than usual. There’s a ton of information about antifreeze online, but more people need to know about it. I think the Vet Volunteers could be the ones to get the word out to as many people in Ambler as possible. I wonder what the best way to do that would be. I should discuss it with Maggie. Wait—I look at the clock. It’s not even six a.m. yet. I better not bother Maggie. She’s such a grouch in the morning, and she went to bed late, too. I decide to check my email while I’m waiting. Maybe Mom has written. It’s been four days since
she checked in. Not that I’m counting or anything.

She has! I click on the email.

Six lines.

I feel deflated. She didn’t even ask anything about me. I know she knows I’m safe with Gran, but come on! Isn’t she curious to know what I’m up to? Doesn’t she worry about whether or not I’m happy? And why doesn’t she give me more details? This independent movie in Vancouver should be the biggest thing that’s ever happened to her. Well, except for having me. She should be telling me about the production. The set. The costumes. She should be sharing silly actor gossip with me, not just telling me she has a friend James. She should be wishing I was there with her.

I don’t hit reply. I’m too angry. I print out my research notes and turn off the computer. I’ll
deal with Mom’s less-than-an-email later. First I’ll make breakfast for everyone. Quiche. I have a great recipe that uses spinach and low-fat cottage cheese. It’s bound to make me feel better, and then I won’t have to watch Gran and Maggie chomping on Pop-Tarts.

As I whisk the eggs and chop the spinach, I start to feel a little calmer. While the quiche bakes, I scrub the kitchen until it shines. The sun is streaming in the windows when Gran and Maggie come into the kitchen. Because it’s Saturday, the clinic doesn’t open until noon today, so we’re able to have a relaxing breakfast before Gran needs to run errands.

“That was delicious, Zoe.” Gran smiles as I wrap up the leftover quiche. “Now, who wants to help me with my errands?”

“I’ll come,” Maggie says, looking at me. I pass because I want to think about the antifreeze problem a little more before I bring Maggie and the Vet Volunteers into it all. And I need to decide how to reply to my mother.

“See you in a couple hours,” Gran says.

Maggie just waves good-bye, but she acts kind of bouncy, like she might be happy that I’m staying behind. Hmm. Does she want Gran to herself? I suppose that’s possible. Now that I’m back, I guess
they haven’t really had any time without me. I might just be imagining things, but my good mood from breakfast is over.

I go over my notes and research for about an hour more. I still don’t know what to say to Mom so I leave that whole issue alone. Instead, I decide to go over to David’s house to check on Rover. Maybe Brian will be there, too. That would cheer me up. Plus, I’m looking particularly cute today. I have on my skinniest jeans and my teal chiffon blouse. Mom always says that teal brings out my eyes.

But Brian isn’t home. Can’t win ’em all.

“I’m babysitting Ashley again,” David says as I step inside. “Brian’s at work and Mom’s shopping. I’m allowed to make peanut-butter-and-jelly cookies. Want some?”

I can’t imagine what peanut-butter-and-jelly cookies are, but I say yes because Ashley is standing there grinning and rubbing her tummy like a cartoon character.

“Sure. How long do they take to bake?” I ask. The kitchen is spotless. I can only imagine what kind of mess David will make if he bakes cookies.

“They don’t get baked,” Ashley says, swinging on the cupboard door. “They get maked.”

“Maked, huh?”

“She’s right,” David says, gently nudging Ashley out of the way so he can reach into the cupboard. He pulls out a jar of peanut butter and a package of vanilla wafer cookies. “They get maked. Er—
made.
”

David finds the jelly in the refrigerator and pulls a butter knife from the drawer. Ashley has a stack of plastic plates in her arms.

“Too many, kiddo,” David says. “We just need three.”

Ashley puts some of the plates back and leaves maybe four or five on the counter.

David smiles at her and starts spreading peanut butter on some wafers and jelly on others. “Go ahead, do your part,” he says to her.

“I make them the best,” Ashley says as she squishes the wafers together to form peanut-butter-and-jelly cookies.

They are a little drippy from too much jelly, but otherwise, surprisingly good. David pours us each a glass of milk, and when we’re done, he cleans up. I’m impressed. Maybe David has grown up a little since I left.

Full and satisfied, with just a little bit of jelly on her shirt, Ashley skips off to play in her room. It’s just David and me now. I got so caught up in the cookies that I almost forgot why I came here in the first place.

“How is Rover?” I ask.

“About the same. Come see.” David leads the way to his room. Rover is curled up on David’s bed. He doesn’t react when David pets him.

“Poor Rover,” I whisper. “You didn’t bring him to the clinic, did you?” I probably would have noticed if he had, but maybe they came when I was out of the house.

“Not yet. He started looking better, but then he went back to being lethargic.”

“Gran should be back by now. Don’t you think you ought to have her take a peek?”

“Maybe.” David looks uneasy.

I don’t want to worry him too much, but this is important. “We got Puff’s results back. It turns out she was poisoned by antifreeze. Maybe that’s not what’s happening to Rover, but it would be better to figure it out sooner rather than later.” I watch David’s face. He lowers his head. His shaggy bangs hide his eyes.

“Okay, let’s take him in,” he agrees.

I go to pick up Rover, but he slinks away. He moves toward the door. I don’t want to scare him so I follow slowly. But he keeps on moving right out the door and down the hall.

“Sorry,” I say to David. I wish Sunita or Jules was here. I’m much better with dogs than I am
with cats. We watch as Rover disappears into Ashley’s room.

“Hi, Rover, wanna play dress up?” we hear her ask.

“No, Ashley!” David calls. “Don’t you dare. He might be sick.”

We go to her door. Ashley is on the floor, surrounded by her dolls and stuffed animals.

“I can’t anyway,” she says. “He’s under my bed.”

And that’s where he stays—as far away as possible—way beneath the farthest corner of Ashley’s bed. Did I scare Rover? I was just trying to help him.

David and I sit on the floor beside Ashley’s bed, amongst all of her stuffed friends, and try to figure out what to do.

“I don’t think we ought to reach in there,” I say, lifting the bedspread and looking under the bed. “He’s backed himself into the corner and his fur is bristly. He looks afraid enough to bite.”

“Okay, we’ll leave him alone for a bit,” David says, and I let the bedspread fall back.