heather
“YOU’RE SURE THIS IS LEGIT, RIGHT?” BISHOP WAS SITTING forward in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel, maneuvering the car over a pitted one-lane dirt track. His hair looked even more exuberant than usual, as though he’d tried to style it with a vacuum cleaner. He was wearing his dad’s old Virginia Tech sweatshirt, loose flannel pajama bottoms, and flip-flops. When he came for Heather he had announced, with a certain pride, that he had not yet showered. “You’re not going to get axed to death by some psychopath, right?”
“Shut up, Bishop.” Heather reached out to shove him and he jerked the wheel, nearly sending them into one of the ditches that ran along both sides of the road.
“That’s no way to treat your driver,” he said.
“Fine. Shut up, driver.” There was an anxious feeling in Heather’s stomach. The trees here were so thick, they almost completely blocked out the sun.
“Just looking out for you, m’lady,” Bishop said, smiling, showing off the overlap in his teeth. “I don’t want my best girl to be turned into a lamp shade.”
“I thought Avery was your best girl,” Heather said. She’d meant it as a joke, but the words came out sounding bitter. Like a bitter, heartbroken, lonely spinster. Which she kind of was. Maybe not a spinster—you couldn’t be a spinster at eighteen, she didn’t think. But close.
“Come on, Heather,” Bishop said. He actually looked hurt. “You’ve always been my best girl.”
Heather kept her face to the window. They would arrive any second. But she felt a little better now. Bishop had that effect on her—like a human antianxiety pill.
The day after the challenge at the water towers, Heather had overslept, waking only when an anonymous text pinged on her phone: Quit now, before you get hurt. She was so shaken, she’d spent fifteen minutes searching for her car keys before remembering she’d stashed them on the hook by the door, then got fired from Walmart when she showed up twenty minutes late for her shift. And suddenly she had found herself blubbering in the parking lot. A week and a half earlier, she’d had a boyfriend and a job—not a good job, but still a job. A little money in her pocket.
Now she had nothing. No boyfriend, no job, no money. And someone wanted to make sure she didn’t play Panic.
Then, out of nowhere, she’d been attacked by a dog with the biggest tongue she’d ever seen. Maybe attacked was the wrong word, since the dog was just licking her—but still, she’d never been much of an animal person, and it had seemed like an attack. And some crazy old lady carrying a shit ton of grocery bags had offered her a job on the spot, even though Heather had snot dripping from her nose and was wearing a tank top streaked with salad dressing, which she hadn’t noticed in her rush to get out of the house.
The woman’s name was Anne. “Muppet’s taken a shine to you,” she’d said. Muppet was the name of the dog with the long tongue. “He doesn’t usually get on with strangers. You seem like you’re a natural with animals.”
Heather had stayed quiet. She didn’t want to admit that for the most part she thought animals, like pimples, were best to ignore. If you fussed too much with them, it would backfire. The only time she’d tried to keep a pet, an anemic-looking goldfish she’d called Star, it had been dead within thirty-two hours. But she said yes when Anne asked if she’d be into doing some pet sitting and light chores. It was $150 a week, cash in the hand, which was roughly the same as she would have made working part-time for Walmart.
Suddenly the trees opened up and they arrived. Heather immediately felt relieved. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting—maybe, after what Bishop said, a dingy barn full of rusting farm tools and machetes—but instead she saw a sprawling red farmhouse and a large circular parking area, neatly trimmed of grass. She could see a barn, too, but it wasn’t dingy—and next to it, a series of whitewashed sheds.
As soon as she opened the door, several roosters came trotting toward her, and a dog—more than one dog?—began furiously barking. Anne emerged from the house and waved.
“Holy shit,” Bishop said. He actually looked impressed. “It’s a zoo.”
“See? Not a human lamp shade in sight.” Heather slid out of the car, then ducked so she could say good-bye. “Thanks, Bishop.”
He saluted. “Text when you need a pickup, ma’am.”
Heather closed the door. Anne crossed the yard toward her.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Anne said, shielding her eyes with one hand, as Bishop began to turn around.