Vintage Veronica (16 page)

This all goes through my head too fast to process. The point is: These guys might be stealing Len’s pets. Len is nowhere to be seen. Someone has to do something.

STOP!
I imagine myself yelling as I run up and grab hold of the tank.
You won’t get away with this!

What thuh … ?
says Flounder Face, looking terrified.

Yikes, let’s get out of here!
says Boots, abandoning his end of the tank. I picture myself standing there laughing, holding the tank while they bolt down the street.

Yeah, right. As if. I stand frozen behind parked cars, imagining the scene. But I can’t just do nothing, so eventually I tiptoe out from behind a car and cross the street slowly, staring at them. Maybe my suspicious glare will scare them off, or something.

I haven’t really planned on saying anything, so I just stand there nervously. Scowling, holding my donut box and praying they aren’t armed or anything. Maybe a neighbor will see what’s going on and call the cops. Or maybe Len’s grandmother will come home. I get a queasy feeling then because it occurs to me that maybe Len’s grandma
is
home.

Maybe the thugs already took care of her.

“Veronica?” I look up, and there’s Len standing in the
doorway. He’s still wearing the hoodie with the tuxedo jacket over it. He’s holding a piece of paper, and there’s a man standing next to him and holding a clipboard. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, hey,” I say lamely.

Boots grunts and adjusts his hold on the tank. Flounder Face does, too, and they continue down the front steps. I walk up and join Len.

“I came by to, um, talk to you. And then I saw those guys and I got worried they were, um, stealing your pets?”

Len shows me what’s on the clipboard. It says
Court Order
at the top.

“Yeah, well. They’re not,” says Len angrily. “So thanks. You can go now.”

He carefully shuffles over to the porch swing and sits. He looks really, really bitter and defeated.

Meanwhile, two more big guys come out of the house carrying a tank. As they go down the steps, I notice the design on the back of the T-shirt worn by the guy bringing up the rear. It is a picture of a raccoon under a butterfly net with the words
HAMPDEN COUNTY ANIMAL CONTROL
below it. They load the tank into a van parked across the street. It has the same drawing painted on the driver’s-side door.

“What happened?” I ask.

Len runs both hands through his hair. “They took everything,” he says. “That’s what happened.”

“Everything?”

He glares at me like I’m stupid. “Everything!” he repeats emphatically. “The tanks, the filters, the pinkies—everything.”

“But … why?”

“Well, someone from the store—and I’m guessing you have an idea who I mean—told the police some story about me stealing from work. So they got a search warrant to look for all this cash or stolen stuff I’m supposed to have.”

“But why did they take your pets? Are they illegal?”

“No. I mean, not to own. But there are pretty strict rules about selling them. I guess they thought that was what I was doing. Now I have to go to court and explain that actually, I’m not a criminal. I’m just a guy with a bunch of exotic pets. If I’m lucky, they’ll give them back. Eventually.”

“But did they find any, like, evidence?”

Len looks irritated. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Stuff they were looking for? Or just the lizards?”

“
Just
the lizards?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean it like?”

“I mean … I don’t know. Nothing.”

“Look, you should go, okay?”

“Len, there’s actually something I’ve got to, um, tell you. I mean, I feel like this is all my fault and I’m really, really sorry. I know there’s no excuse, I just … really want you to know how awful I feel. I—”

I look at Len and see that he’s not looking at me. His head is hanging down and his hands are in the pocket of his hoodie. I see his mouth moving, whispering.

“Len? Oh my God, do you have Violet?”

Len nods slowly and grants me a peek. “They took her cage, though,” he says.

I feel an incredible sense of relief at the sight of her orange-flecked skin. I reach in and give her a little pat with one finger. My fingers accidentally brush against Len’s inside the pocket, and I feel a tiny jolt before he pulls away. Carefully, I sit down next to Len. The swing creaks a warning under my weight, so I hold on to the chain just to be sure.

We sit there together in silence and sway a little.

“I’m still mad at you,” he says.

“I guess I deserve that,” I say. We’re so close I can smell his skin, which makes me think of last night on the couch.

Just then, Len points to the box I’m still holding.
Oh, shit, I almost forgot about Dep. How the hell am I going to tell him now?

“Lemon logs?” he asks.

“Not exactly,” I say, taking a deep breath.

irst off,” I say. “Like I said, I’m sorry for giving Dep to Zoe. I know this is going to sound dumb, but I didn’t think she’d do anything bad with him.”

Len kind of snorts. “I thought I warned you about Zoe.”

“Yeah, I know,” I admit. “It’s just that, I dunno, I just thought … Ugh, I don’t know what I thought. I really fucked up.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, I should have known better. I just really thought it would be okay. Which sounds ridiculous now, I know.”

Len sighs. “Veronica, you can’t trust Zoe. If you do, you’ll regret it very soon. The only person Zoe cares about is Zoe.”

“And Ginger.”

“No,” says Len, very serious. “The only person Zoe cares about. Is. Zoe.”

“Great, great! I got it, okay?” I start to feel a little indignant about the whole situation. “Look, if there was some way to go back in time and undo this whole mess, I would. If I had a magic wand or something, wham, Dep would still be alive, you’d still have all your pets …”

“What did you say?”
Oh, shit
.

“You’d still have all your pets?”

“No, about Dep. Where’s Dep?”

I so don’t want to do it, but I hand him the donut box. His eyes get big and he looks at me like,
no
. I nod.

“I’m so, so sorry, Len. I just …” And then I lose it. I start to cry, really cry. Like Spud dying and then some: loud blurbles, snot running, awful blubbery tears. Len does not cry or put his arm around me. On the positive side, he doesn’t tell me to leave, or even to shut up. He just sits there silently next to me.

After a while, I quiet down.

“Sorry,” I say again, this time meaning about the tears. I rub my nose with the back of my wrist.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“No, it’s not. I’m such a freaking idiot.”

“Veronica, look. I forgive you, all right? You didn’t mean for this to happen. You’re a good person.”

“How can you say that?” I ask him. “I mean, after Dep and all … this.”

Len shrugs. “Because it’s true,” he says simply, which almost makes me start to cry again. He reaches for the chain on his side of the swing and pulls himself carefully to his feet.

“Why are you so nice to me?” I ask him.

He frowns. “I have no idea.”

So I tell him the whole story. About going downstairs to try and get Dep back, going to the Mooks to try and find Zoe, seeing Zoe and Ginger getting arrested, and going in to find Dep.

“Thanks,” he says when I finish.

“For what?”

“For trying to get him back.”

Before I can respond, he asks, “Wanna help?”

“Help?”
I venture, wondering if he means it our code way.

“With Dep.”

“Help what with Dep?” I have this weird feeling that maybe he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. Maybe he’s in shock over losing his other pets or something.

“Come on,” he says, and slowly starts down the front steps. I walk behind him, carrying the donut box.

I follow him down the stairs and up the driveway that runs along the side of the house. It leads to a small backyard that looks like it was once someone’s garden. There’s a small shed and a low fence made of white-coated wire roping off about three-quarters of the yard. Behind the fence is one of those wooden signs painted to look like a lady bending over and showing her polka-dotted behind to the world. It looks as though her underwear has weathered many a rainstorm.

“Hang on, okay? I’ve got to put Violet inside.”

I nod. Len goes up the back stairs, leaving me standing there, holding the box.

I look around. In addition to the lady with the spotted panties, there are also a lot of bricks, scattered randomly throughout the dirt in the garden. I see writing on one, so I pick it up. ROY, it says in black paint. REST IN PEACE.

“Oops. Sorry,” I say, although no one is there. Carefully, I replace it on the ground. I guess Len does get it. Clearly he’s no stranger to pet death.

“How many have you, um, lost?” I ask Len when he returns from inside the house. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he goes to the shed and emerges dragging a shovel and wearing a pair of beige canvas gardening gloves.

Len leans on the handle and thinks for a moment. “Twenty-three,” he says finally, “not counting fish.” He picks up the ROY brick, frowns, and moves it back to the proper spot. “The goldfish, I don’t really keep track of. They’re all over there by that rosebush, all together.”

Len falls silent. Then he points out a spot.

“I think there’s room here.”

“Oh. Okay,” I say. Len picks up the shovel again and takes a stab at the ground. He barely makes a mark. He tries again, but the ground is unyielding. Eventually he unearths about a tablespoon of soil. He lurches over to the rosebush, depositing the dirt on top of the goldfish grave. Then he returns and tries to dig some more.

“Len?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do your folks … I mean, your grandma, or whoever … are they okay with you turning the backyard into a pet cemetery?”

“My parents aren’t around anymore.”

“They’re—dead?”

There’s a long pause. Then Len, his back to me, says, “Uh-huh.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“They’re not … ?” I look around nervously.

“No, they’re not buried here.”

“Okay, good,” I say. Which I realize sounds funny, so I quickly add, “I mean, I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I used to wish my parents were dead,” I tell him.

“You did?”

“Big-time. I think it started with
Annie
? You know, the musical? Plus, I was really into orphan books.” I’m rambling nervously, but I can’t seem to stop. “The parents are gone and the kids have these great adventures. You know, like
Pippi Longstocking
?
James and the Giant Peach
? Plus, my folks totally suck.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. My mom is, like, anorexic? So she’s always trying to put me on some insane diet or another. And since my dad and I aren’t, like, total skeletons, she hates us both. My dad’s okay, but he got this job in New York? So he just took off and
I haven’t seen him in a couple of months. Which is probably for the best,” I conclude.

“If you say so,” says Len. “Still sounds better than not having them around at all.”

“Yeah, I guess …,” I say dubiously. “Did they die in the car accident? Your parents, I mean.”

“Yeah. I mean, yes and no. My mom did. My dad died a couple years before that.”

“Wow. What did he die of?”

“Cancer. At least that’s what my grandma always said. Of course, she smoked, too.”

“Wait, is she dead, too?”

“No,” says Len. “She’s in New Jersey. Which is sort of the same thing, I think.”

“Sorry?”

“Hello? It’s a joke?” says Len, imitating me.

“Okay, I’m an asshole,” I say.

“No, you’re not,” says Len. “But it’s going to be a while before I trust you with another snake.”

Len scratches the ground with his shovel again. It is starting to rain lightly, which seems to slow him down all the more. It occurs to me that I could probably move more soil with a pair of tweezers than he does with his shovel.