Page 110 of So Wild

“I love you, too.”

Nicole wrapped her arms around her sister and Scott turned away, touched and embarrassed to be present for such a tender moment. He returned his gaze to the smoldering shed. Someone had thrown two petrol bombs or accelerants at the property. But why had they gone for the back door and not the building?

“Come on,” Tabby said, pulling away from Nicole. “We’re embarrassing Sam’s Special Friend.”

“Don’t mind me,” Scott said.

“I don’t, but I feel like we should be doing productive stuff.” Tabby picked up a puppy and used its fur to wipe away her tears. Nicole laughed. “I’m so glad they’re okay.”

“Me too,” Tabby said. “So what now? What should we do?”

“The people out the front of the building said the cops and the fire brigade are on their way,” Scott said. “If you ask me, we should lock the doors and make sure none of the rubberneckers come inside and steal anything.”

“Good point. I should make sure the laptops and tattoo machines are somewhere else, as well.” Nicole’s forehead furrowed. “Scott, could you put the puppies in your car? They’ll need to see a vet to make sure they’re okay, and Tabby’s too shaken up to drive.”

“I’m fine!” Tabby protested.

“No, you’re not. Scott, can you please help her?”

“Of course.”

He helped Tabby to her feet and scooped three of the squirming pups into his arms. Tabby opened the side gate to let them onto the street and Scott realised he’d picked up the girl-pup he’d been drawn to a week ago, the one with the curious eyebrows. She was tucked closest into his elbow and was making tiny, squeaking noises that had him feeling a curious swell of adoration and absolute fury at whoever had done this—teenagers like the ones who’d harassed Sam, maybe? Were they capable of such stupid, reckless fuckery?

“Where’s Sam?” Tabby asked as they walked the main street to his car. “Did she come see you?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, reflecting that it felt like a hundred years ago. “She left just after I did. She should be here soon.”

“She’s going to freak out. The spare tattoo machine was in the shed. So were a bunch of old photos.” Tabby looked as deflated as anyone with blue hair and three puppies could look.

“That doesn’t matter. No one got hurt. That’s all that matters.”

Tabby hoisted her puppies a little higher. “Are you sure? Seems what matters is that we’ve got a crazy nutter trying to firebomb—what are you doing?”

Scott had stopped dead. From where he and Tabby were standing, he could see straight into his old house. In the front room behind the milk-white blinds stood the silhouette of a man he knew well. Disorientation hit like a crushing wave, a sense of fresh unreality. It was true, and maybe he’d already known that, but there was the evidence his idiot heart couldn’t deny.

“Tabby,” he heard himself say. “Take my keys and get the pups in my car.”

“Um, why?”

He knelt, not breathing, barely thinking and put the squirming puppies on the nature strip. He dug into his pockets, holding out his keys. “I have to go check something. Ask the people out the front of the shop to help you, if you need, I just…I have to go.”

He strode toward his old house, then remembered something and turned back. “If you see Sam, tell her to stay with Nicole. She’s not to come anywhere near me or my old house, understand?”

Tabby blinked rapidly. “But, no wait! Come back.”

But for the second time that afternoon, he was running. He ran toward his old house as though his father might disappear beneath the floorboards and never be seen again. He’d have given a great deal, every dollar he had, to still believe it had been someone else, but there was no doubt left to find. His dad had set the DaSilva’s home on fire, could have easily killed Tabby and the dogs and Scott needed to talk to him, he needed to knowwhy.

Knowing the front door was locked—leaving it unlocked was one of the many, many things that brought Greg Sanderson’s temper down upon you—Scott headed to the kissing gate at the back of the property. The bolt was stiff with rust and clearly hadn’t been used in ages but it slid back all the same. He wrenched the gate open and stepped into his old backyard. Another wave of floating strangeness washed over him—the familiar space strewn with the remnants of another family; deflated footballs, a plastic slide, a murky paddling pool. He stood frozen, trying to remember how it had been before.

“Hello, boy.”

His father was standing on the back porch wearing normal clothes, as though this were just a normal day in which normal things happened. The sight of his navy blue polo, black slacks and sports coat made Scott feel dizzier than ever. He could taste blood in his mouth again. “D-d-dad, what are you d-d-doing here?”

His father looked almost disappointed as he walked down the back stairs. “You’re still fucking stuttering. A decade of the best speech pathology money could buy and you still can’t talk properly.”

“I can talk just f-fine,” Scott said, his heart hammering so hard it felt like his blood was poison. “What are you doing in the old house?”

“I’m the landlord, remember? I’ve got the spare keys.” He smiled a smile Scott knew like the back of his hand. The one he’d always flashed before heading to a busy day at the office.

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