did you have the foot last?”
I thought back. After we got in the car, I’d wrapped the foot in a Country Kitchen grocery bag that was on the floor. I’d placed the bag on the coffee table while Dad was interrogating Jonah and me. I was almost sure of it.
The operative word there was
almost
. Normally I wouldn’tspace out like that, but I was so tired. And hurt. And stressed. My brain was practically dribbling out my ears.
“All right,” I said. “You check the car. There’s a chance I left it in there. I’ll check the living room, which is the other best possibility. Meet me in the basement.”
“Okay.”
Jonah thundered down the stairs.
The living room light was off and the room empty, which made my life easier. It would have been a lot more difficult to remove a foot-shaped bag from right under Dad’s nose. I could probably have managed, but it was nice not to have to worry about it. I flicked the lights on with a feeling of relief.
The bag wasn’t there.
I swallowed. It wasn’t like the foot would walk off on its own. Or would it?
stared at the empty table and tried not to panic. The missing foot wasn’t going to suddenly come to life and stomp my family to death, right? That kind of thing only happened in horror films, in which case I would have been a lot blonder and more buxom. It was one of the few situations in which my geekiness was reassuring.
The foot was probably in the car. I stared at the door to the garage, expecting Jonah to bound through triumphantly at any moment with a plastic bag full of foot. It didn’t happen.
I heard Dad pounding away at the keyboard in his study down the hall, Armstrong growling as he worked on his nightly rawhide chewie. Personally, I could think of better things to do than sit on Dad’s smelly feet and chew rawhide, but it was Armstrong’sfavorite activity in the world. He was really going at it tonight too. The snarly noises he made were almost comical.
Then it hit me. Oh my god. Armstrong had the foot.
All of Dad’s work stuff had been on the table too. He’d probably grabbed the bag by mistake, and Armstrong got hold of the dismembered body part somehow, and now he was chewing it into bits.
I ran down to the study. Dad looked up from the computer with an expression of mild puzzlement.
“What?” he said, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. “Is there a fire?”
“No. I …” I looked around wildly. “Um. I forgot to take Armstrong out for a walk. Is he in here?”
Dad glanced at his dog-covered feet. I needed to distract him before he discovered what Armstrong was really chewing on.
“Dad!” He jerked at my shout. “Sorry. I just don’t want to disturb you. And I know Mom would be upset if she came back from her trip overseas to find the carpet all yucked up.”
Dad looked at me like I was insane. And really, I doubted Mom would notice if I dug up the living room and installed a swimming pool, even if she wasn’t overseas. There was a reason we had a cleaning lady come once a week.
“Well, if it means that much to you, I’m not going to discourage you from performing your chores,” he said, but he was watching me now. My erratic behavior had definitely gotten his attention. At this rate, I’d be lucky if he didn’t decide to get me drug-tested.
I chuckled. It sounded so fakey stupid, but Dad was already back at the keyboard poundage and didn’t seem to notice. I stooped down to reach under the desk and extract the zombie part from our dog’s mouth. Once I got my hands on that foot, I was going to brush Armstrong’s teeth about twenty times. He was a face licker, and I couldn’t even think about that without wanting to throw up.
Armstrong was curled around his treat. I’d have to drag him out from under the desk to get the foot. I grabbed his foreleg and tugged, and he growled at me.
“Hey, Army,” I cooed. “You want a walk? You can have your treat after we come back in.”
He went back to chewing.
“I think
I thought back. After we got in the car, I’d wrapped the foot in a Country Kitchen grocery bag that was on the floor. I’d placed the bag on the coffee table while Dad was interrogating Jonah and me. I was almost sure of it.
The operative word there was
almost
. Normally I wouldn’tspace out like that, but I was so tired. And hurt. And stressed. My brain was practically dribbling out my ears.
“All right,” I said. “You check the car. There’s a chance I left it in there. I’ll check the living room, which is the other best possibility. Meet me in the basement.”
“Okay.”
Jonah thundered down the stairs.
The living room light was off and the room empty, which made my life easier. It would have been a lot more difficult to remove a foot-shaped bag from right under Dad’s nose. I could probably have managed, but it was nice not to have to worry about it. I flicked the lights on with a feeling of relief.
The bag wasn’t there.
I swallowed. It wasn’t like the foot would walk off on its own. Or would it?
stared at the empty table and tried not to panic. The missing foot wasn’t going to suddenly come to life and stomp my family to death, right? That kind of thing only happened in horror films, in which case I would have been a lot blonder and more buxom. It was one of the few situations in which my geekiness was reassuring.
The foot was probably in the car. I stared at the door to the garage, expecting Jonah to bound through triumphantly at any moment with a plastic bag full of foot. It didn’t happen.
I heard Dad pounding away at the keyboard in his study down the hall, Armstrong growling as he worked on his nightly rawhide chewie. Personally, I could think of better things to do than sit on Dad’s smelly feet and chew rawhide, but it was Armstrong’sfavorite activity in the world. He was really going at it tonight too. The snarly noises he made were almost comical.
Then it hit me. Oh my god. Armstrong had the foot.
All of Dad’s work stuff had been on the table too. He’d probably grabbed the bag by mistake, and Armstrong got hold of the dismembered body part somehow, and now he was chewing it into bits.
I ran down to the study. Dad looked up from the computer with an expression of mild puzzlement.
“What?” he said, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. “Is there a fire?”
“No. I …” I looked around wildly. “Um. I forgot to take Armstrong out for a walk. Is he in here?”
Dad glanced at his dog-covered feet. I needed to distract him before he discovered what Armstrong was really chewing on.
“Dad!” He jerked at my shout. “Sorry. I just don’t want to disturb you. And I know Mom would be upset if she came back from her trip overseas to find the carpet all yucked up.”
Dad looked at me like I was insane. And really, I doubted Mom would notice if I dug up the living room and installed a swimming pool, even if she wasn’t overseas. There was a reason we had a cleaning lady come once a week.
“Well, if it means that much to you, I’m not going to discourage you from performing your chores,” he said, but he was watching me now. My erratic behavior had definitely gotten his attention. At this rate, I’d be lucky if he didn’t decide to get me drug-tested.
I chuckled. It sounded so fakey stupid, but Dad was already back at the keyboard poundage and didn’t seem to notice. I stooped down to reach under the desk and extract the zombie part from our dog’s mouth. Once I got my hands on that foot, I was going to brush Armstrong’s teeth about twenty times. He was a face licker, and I couldn’t even think about that without wanting to throw up.
Armstrong was curled around his treat. I’d have to drag him out from under the desk to get the foot. I grabbed his foreleg and tugged, and he growled at me.
“Hey, Army,” I cooed. “You want a walk? You can have your treat after we come back in.”
He went back to chewing.
“I think
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