I turn and pound on Madeleine’s door.
No one answers. I notice muddy paw streaks on the door.
“Madeleine, come on. Mouse is out here. What were you thinking letting him out in a storm like this?”
I knock again and wait a few minutes. There’s nothing but silence on the other side of the door, and a sense of dread starts to fill my gut. Why would Mouse be outside alone? And where’s Madeleine?
“Madeleine?” I call, pounding on the door harder than before. The flimsy thing rattles on its hinges, and I know if I hit it just little harder, the whole damn door would come loose.
“Young man, she’s not home.”
I spin around and spot an old man across the pathway, peering out at me from the sliver of space between his door and its frame.
“What do you mean she’s not home?”
“She left a little while ago to find her dog.”
I frown, confused. “Her dog’s right here.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why it’s strange that she’s looking for him.”
“Did you see where she went?”
He shrugs and steps back, closing his door just a bit. “The dog’s here so she’ll be back soon.”
“There’s a flash flood warning in effect until the morning.”
He shrugs. “Well you found the dog. I guess now you need to go find the girl.”
With that, he shuts his door and leaves me out on the walkway to fend for myself. Mouse lies down at my feet, wholly unaffected by the fact that his owner is searching for him in the middle of a thunderstorm. I try to think fast. Madeleine isn’t in danger. She’s out in her car, looking for Mouse. She’ll likely be back any minute, so I lean back against her door and wait. Mouse falls asleep. I check my watch. Another fifteen minutes roll by. I try calling her again, and her cell phone chimes in her apartment. Well that explains why she hasn’t answered any of my calls.
Minutes slip past. Something doesn’t feel right.
I run to my car and find a stray receipt in my cup holder.
Mouse is safe. I have him. Call me. - Adam
I pound on the neighbor’s door until he answers and then I ask for some tape so I can put the note on her door.
“She’s going to be back any time now,” he says, shaking his head at me as he wanders off into his apartment. A second later, he comes back with a couple of pieces of tape that he ripped off the roll. Stingy.
I use every piece of tape to secure the paper to her door right at eye level so there’s no chance she’ll miss it, and then I load Mouse up in my car. With a pang, I remember the day of the barbecue when Madeleine insisted we take her car to avoid the scene before me now: a big dog making a mess of my interior. Right now, I could not care less.
A bolt of lightning shatters the sky a few yards ahead, followed by a booming clap of thunder. I pat Mouse—less to calm him, and more to soothe myself.
“We’re going to find her,” I assure him as we pull out onto the road.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MADELEINE
My three seconds of despair turn into minutes. I don’t know how long I sit there, frozen in panic. Thunder rumbles a few miles away, and I’m reminded that I have to act. I can’t sit here while Mouse is out there alone, and I’m not naive enough to try to walk home alone, at night, with no phone, no shoes, and no purse.
My only option is to get my car out of the mud. I’ve seen my dad do it a couple times over the years. I need to find some wood and wedge it beneath my tire so there’s enough traction for them to move. To do that, I have to get out of my car. I look out and wonder how long it’s going to rain like this. Surely it can’t keep up forever, but I don’t have time to wait it out. I fling my door open and rush out, heading for the dense woods a few yards away. My hair is still wet from my shower, and the rain soaks everything else within a few seconds. I wipe the water from my eyes and search the ground. There are some sticks lying around in the mud, but nothing that will really give me traction.
I don’t look for long. Truthfully, I doubt I’ll find anything worth using. I need a massive piece of plywood, and I won’t find that on the edge of the woods near a dog park. I gather together as many sticks as I can find and run back to my car, wincing when sharp rocks jab into my bare feet with each step.
Both of my back tires are stuck in the mud. The right one is worse than the left, so I start there, my feet sinking into the wet mud as I step closer. I drop my sticks on the ground and try to remember what my dad used to do. I need to get the sticks beneath the tire, right? But how can I do that if the tire is stuck in mud? I bend down and use my hands to haul away some of the mud, but it’s like quicksand, filling right back into the hole as quickly as I can move it.
I’m so close to giving up. The rain is relentless, and now my hands are too muddy to wipe my eyes. I blink and try to clear them, but my vision is still cloudy. Maybe that isn’t rain; maybe I’m crying now.
As I bend down, digging and digging, trying to haul away enough mud to make a difference, more fills in, making it impossible to get ahead of the problem. I’m struggling and working hard, and yet nothing I do seems like it’s enough. There is no getting out of this hole, and I see that now. This hole, this stinking goopy mud pile is my life.
I understand that while other people slip into jobs they love and marriages that seem more like fairytales, I, Madeleine Thatcher, am destined for a tougher life. Nothing has come easy for me, and with every pile of mud that I move, I feel better. Most people would have given up already, but not me. I’m tough. I can do this. I dig and I dig, wedging the sticks beneath my car’s wheels until I think there’s enough to make a difference.
Before I step back into my car, I shake out my hands and feet, flinging off as much mud as I can manage. There are a few napkins stuffed in the driver’s side door and I use them to wipe my hands. It’s not enough, but it’s something.
I start my car, shift it into reverse, and the tires spin and spin, spewing mud and sticks.
The clock on the dashboard reads 10:45 PM; I’ve been stuck here for an hour, and I’m no closer to getting myself free.
The rain continues on, relentless and unyielding.
I let my head fall against the steering wheel and I close my eyes against the tears.
I’m sorry, Mouse.
I’m so sorry.
…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Raindrops drip down lazily on my window, barely pulling me out of a deep sleep.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
The sound is growing louder.
I groan and try to steal another minute or two of sleep. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s too early to be awake. Mouse hasn’t nudged me with his nose, which means it must still be the middle of the night. He’s more dependable than an alarm clock.
Mouse…