Chapter 1: It All Started on the Toilet
I’m not even trying to be funny when I say my life changed on the toilet.
I sat in the bathroom flipping through a magazine, because the moment I stopped reading, my chores would bury me like a mountain of mud.
Outdoor Adventure was the magazine. The issue might’ve covered East Coast hiking destinations or the best summer campgrounds or something like that. I didn’t read the magazines so much as skim for pictures and silly ads. I’d cut those out and tape them to my bedroom door for when I needed a good laugh.
Sure, I would’ve liked to scroll on my phone like other kids my age. But thanks to Mom and Dad’s no-phone-until-you’re-thirteen rule, that wasn’t an option.
The roar of the vacuum cleaner filled the hallway. Mom always cleaned before we had company. I didn’t know why she worried about it. It was only Aunt Skylar coming for dinner tomorrow. She came every week, and no way she cared if the house was messy.
The vacuum stopped. Mom tapped the door. “You almost done in there? I’ve got to clean that bathroom, and you haven’t finished folding the laundry.”
I frowned. Folding laundry topped the list of my least favorite chores. I once tried to convince Mom folding laundry was impossible with one hand, but she didn’t buy it. Especially since I’d only ever had half of my right arm and had learned to do everything with my left from the time I was born.
“Kimmy?” Mom asked.
“Be out in a minute!”
Her footsteps hustled away.
I flipped the page.
And my jaw dropped almost to the tile floor.
I was staring at a picture of Bo.
It couldn’t be him.
My dog had been gone for two years. Disappeared without a trace. Our neighbors had helped us search. When we still couldn’t find him, even Dad cried.
But when I looked at that photo in the magazine, I knew it had to be him.
Long golden hair, four big white paws. A white spot on his forehead. Black fur outlining his bright blue eyes like doggy eyeliner. A beautiful golden retriever and Aussie mix. In the photo, he was devouring an ice cream cone with a big smile on his furry face.
“Mom!” I barged out of the bathroom, my shorts barely pulled up to my waist and not taking the full twenty seconds to wash my hand.
I stopped by my room and grabbed the framed photo of Bo from beside my bed. He and I used to play together in the creek behind the farm, and this picture captured one of those memories.
My glance darted from the magazine to the creek photo. It was the same dog. Same blue eyes, same white spot on his forehead.
No one could deny it.
“Dad!” I dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Bo’s still alive!”
Mom stood on her tiptoes on the counter, reaching a feather duster into the corners of the ceiling like a housecleaning ballerina. She turned. “Your dad’s out with the cows. What is it?”
“Look!” I held up the issue of Outdoor Adventure, then tucked it under my little arm—the arm that stopped just beneath my elbow—and tried climbing onto the counter to give her a closer view.
“Not a good idea. I’ll come to you.” Mom lowered her duster and hopped down. “You know, honey, these travel magazines are more up Skylar’s alley. Maybe you should show it to her tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “No, look.”
I held out the picture of Bo. I could almost see his tail wagging so hard his whole butt wiggled and his lips raising in a snarl, which was how he smiled. He’d only had ice cream once when he lived with us—the top scoop of vanilla had toppled from my cone, and I’d let him have it—but he’d loved it. Of course he’d be smiling.
At first, Mom was quiet.
I chewed on a strand of my hair while I waited for her response.
Slowly, she raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh my.”
“It’s Bo. It has to be! We always said he was one of a kind, and look.” I put the creek photo on top of the magazine so she could see them together. “Right here it says where the photo was taken. Lake Ridgeford, New York. That’s only one state away, Mom. He’s so close!”
Mom’s hand moved from her mouth to her heart. “Mmm.”
“So, when can we get him and bring him home?”
Mom smoothed her T-shirt and cleared her throat. She acted like she was preparing to meet with one of her real estate clients, which wasn’t a good thing. “Dogs look alike. Just because this dog looks like Bo doesn’t mean it’s him.” She kept her voice steady, but her words made me want to scream. “A photo isn’t much to go on.”
I scanned the caption beneath the picture. A two-year resident of Lake Ridgeford enjoys a sweet treat at Ella’s Creamery.
Two years. Bo had been gone for two years.
That couldn’t be a coincidence. God must’ve put this magazine in front of me for a reason.
I shoved the magazine under Mom’s nose. “Look, Mom. This dog has been in Lake Ridgeford for the same amount of time since Bo disappeared!”
She paused. “Maybe we can try calling the ice cream shop. Ella’s. See if they know anything.”
“Can I borrow your phone?”
Mom nodded, but she made no move to hand over her cell phone. “It’s probably not him, Kimmy.” She rubbed her throat, something she only did when she was nervous. “And if it was . . . he’d have a new family by now.”
How could she say something like that? We were his family.
I rolled up the magazine, tucked it under my arm, and held out my hand. “Your phone? Please?”
She dropped her cell phone into my open palm.
Before Mom could say another word, I bolted out the front door. I walked down the path toward the dairy barn with her phone propped against my little arm. The number for Ella’s Creamery appeared on the screen after a few taps.
“Here goes nothing,” I whispered.
The phone rang.
After about ten rings, someone answered. “Ella’s Creamery. Can I help you?” The voice belonged to a boy, likely a few years older than me.
“Hi, I have a question about a photo of your shop I found in a magazine.” My voice trembled. “It’s a picture of a dog, and I want to know where it came from. He’s not just any dog, he—”
“Listen, I just work the counter,” the boy said. “And I’m really busy. Can you call back later when Ella’s here?”
I didn’t want to call later. I wanted answers now. Nerves tightened in my stomach. “But I’m just trying to find out—were you working when the magazine took the picture of the shop?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I gotta go. I have customers,” he said. “Try calling later. Ella might be able to help.”
“O-okay. Thanks.”
“Yup. Bye.”
He dropped the phone but must not have hung it up properly, because sounds from Ella’s Creamery still came through Mom’s cell phone. Chatter and laughter, but no words.
I ended the call with a sigh.
Time to talk to Dad. He’d understand. He loved Bo almost as much as I did.
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