Page 8 of Wrong Number, Right Unicorn

“I promise I won’t forget to pay you back.”

I had a good feeling about Errol and was certain he’d do his best. Following him inside, we discovered the cop Errol had been arguing with was dealing with a man whose dog had bitten his neighbor. The owner insisted it was justified, as the guy had pitched a stone at his pet.

I was on the dog’s side.

Errol and I said our goodbyes, and I weaved through the crowd and into the cool night air.

You can’t leave.

I have his number. He’s too stressed right now to hear about you or meet you. I’d give it a few days.

My beast wanted to know where Grams was.

Behind bars.

A zoo. He shuddered, having seen a documentary on how some zoos treated their animals.

She’ll be out soon.

An hour later when I fell into bed, I’d expected to sleep straight away, but my mind was full, wondering how Grams was and where Errol had taken her.

And then my thoughts drifted to Errol himself.

Chapter 4

Errol

Ideally, I wouldn’t have taken the money. I’d have had my own. It was $500—not a huge amount, but for me right now, it was more than I had. My savings had been wiped out when my roof sprung a leak, and I hadn’t been able to replenish it yet. Honestly, my house was a money pit, and more days than not, I regretted taking it off my parents’ hands. Sure, it was filled with memories, but so were my old school photo albums.

I don’t know why Grams gave me that number, if it was one that Julian used to have, or maybe it was the wrong area code. He was technically my uncle, but it was in name only. He rarely came around when I was kid, and recently not at all. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure why she picked him to call in the first place.

Things were just getting so rough with her, I didn’t know much of anything. Leaving her in a cell wasn’t an option. She wasn’t going to quote, “learn a lesson,” like one of the cops suggested. If anything, she was going to get herself in more trouble. Grams always had a rebellious side. That was hardly new.

I went back inside, filled out an enormous amount of paperwork, paid the money, and then waited... and waited... and waited. I wasn’t sure if this was the normal process or if they were just fed up with me and this whole fiasco.

But then the officer I talked to came out with someone I didn’t recognize—someone in plain clothes, who introduced themselves as a social worker—that’s when I knew what was happening. They were stalling in order to get me help.

Fuck. That was the last thing I needed. At least for now. There might come a time when I needed the help, and when it did, I’d seek it out. For now, I just needed to get her home and process the entire situation.

“I just wanted to give you some information on some resources for your grandmother. She doesn’t seem quite of sound mind.” She chose her words carefully. It wasn’t her fault she was dragged into this, and her intentions seemed to be in the right place. I still wished she wasn’t here.

“I think she’s just tired,” I said, though I didn’t really believe that was the reason. Something was going on, but that wasn’t it.

“There are also some resources for you.” She tapped her finger on the folder she was holding, and I assumed those were some of said resources. “Are your parents around?”

“No, they’re out of state,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was not ready for any of this. At least I’d finished all my work last night, so when I had to call in, it was fine. I’d have the day to figure things out.

“If I say thank you and take this information and promise to follow up, can I take her home now?”

“Yes,” she held out the folder, “but really do those things.”

I agreed that I would, and fifteen minutes later, I was walking Grams out to the car. She kept wanting to talk, and I kept telling her to wait, saying it was “Car Talk”—something she’d used with my dad, and he’d used with me. I was always allowed to vent about anything I wanted, as soon as we got into the car. If a teacher was being awful, he wanted to hear it… once I got to the car, and now I was using it on my grandmother. What a weird circle life was turning out to be.

“We still didn’t get the tea,” was the first thing she said when I got in and buckled. Not an apology for mooning the cop or a thank-you for bailing her out. No. She wanted tea.

“No, we didn’t. And I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the pharmacy... they don’t want you back.” And I didn’t blame them.

“Why? Just because I threw a little basket?”

---