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Chapter Nine

Friday May 16, 2008

8:00am

Come on. Almost there.

His heart pounded against his ribs. His mouth hung open, panting hard as he willed himself down the homestretch of what was becoming his daily run. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk ahead, shoes pounding the pavement, paws pumping lazily. A block from the house he slowed to a stop and gave his lungs a moment to catch up.

"Hell yeah," he exhaled, loosening his earbud clips with a paw which he flattened to eclipse the morning sun from his brow. It had been a while since he had managed a five-mile run, and the young shepherd walked the rest of the way home with a tired smile.

At the patio behind his parents' house, Tyson stretched and looked over the fairway that bordered the backyard. He watched a party of golfers play by, then slipped inside the house to serve himself a cold glass of tap water and ready a shower. Twenty minutes later, he toweled his fur and grabbed his phone from his room.

No new messages.

"Man . . ."

He had talked with Elena only once since finals.

I've gotta text her later.

The shepherd threw on a fresh pair of shorts, pocketed the cellphone and made himself at home in front of the television.

* * *

2:50pm

"1 NEW MESSAGE"

"call tonight after 6"

Fresh from an early-afternoon nap, Tyson shook his head and punched in a reply to Elena's text. He checked the clock on his phone again with a yawn. "Hmmm. After six."

Productivity would elude Tyson for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

5:02pm

"Hey, Mom," Anessa said when the stairs to the TV room creaked and black ears popped into view.

One paw to her head, Patricia rounded the few steps to the top floor without pause. "You're on your own for dinner," she muttered.

"Migraine?" asked Roger, sitting up in his chair.

"Just starting."

Roger sighed and got up to pursue his wife. "You two go downstairs," he grunted. "Make something to eat for yourselves."

"You can pick," Tyson told his youngest sister.

Mashing canine fangs and the aroma of overcooked pizza filled the dining room half an hour later. Tyson ate with gusto, and after tossing his dishes into the washer he slipped his shoes on. "If Dad asks, I'm just going for a walk!" he called across the house.

"Good to know!" replied Bella, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Don't drink too much tonight!"

"Thanks, Mom."

Tyson shot a one-finger salute towards the dining room and jumped out of the house. After walking a few blocks, the young shepherd turned onto a park trail and brought his phone to an ear.

"Right on time."

The husky voice put a toothy grin on Tyson's face. "Like always. What are you up to?"

"I'm getting some food ready. Audrey left. She's babysitting for a few hours, so I wanted to make sure we had a chance to talk."

"I suppose it's not enough time for me to drive over?"

"She said it came up last minute. But I wanted to talk to you about next week."

"What did you have in mind?"

* * *

5:56pm

The migraine had kicked in during the drive home. She had felt the warning signs during her lunch break: the familiar soreness creeping up her back and neck, the insatiable sweet tooth.

Patricia groaned and rolled into her blankets.

Roger sat at the edge of the mattress, a wary frown on his muzzle. "Anything I can get you?"

"Just go," croaked Patricia, a paw over her eyes. "I'll be fine." Her head pounded fiercely.

"Holler if you need anything."

Patricia felt her husband leave the bed and heard the bedroom door close. Another weekend ruined, she rued while tears of frustration dampened the black fur below her eyes. The migraines seemed to prey upon her days off.

Until a few years ago they had been a rare--annual at most-- occurrence, but in recent years she was lucky to go a month without one of the debilitating headaches.

She despised it.

Only locking herself in the bedroom seemed to help, and nobody in the family understood her suffering. Her kids only complained about rides, food and needing help with everything else. Roger always acted the loving caretaker, but what good did he actually do?

Squeezing the paw beneath her into a fist, Patricia begged her aching body to let her sleep.

* * *

Thursday May 22, 2008

6:01pm

The migraines typically subsided after a day or so. When Patricia sat herself at the dinner table the next Thursday, the stretch of pounding headaches and nausea were far from her mind.

"Did Ty say where he was going?" she grumbled, carving a chicken breast and jabbing her fork into a slice.

Anessa, who had just put in her final day of middle school attendance, shrugged. "He wasn't here when we got back."

A scowl creased the mother shepherd's muzzle.

* * *

6:20pm

"He's back," noted Roger, ears perking at a four-cylinder rumble.

Patricia rolled her eyes. Her plate was clean.

Tyson swaggered up to the table in the next minute, casual in dark polo and mesh shorts. "Back," he said.

An unfamiliar scent caught Patricia's nose as she glared at her son. "Where have you been? You're late."

"I was hanging out with Cal--Sorry, didn't know we were eating together."

"You can put your plate in the microwave for a minute."

Tyson raised his brow. "Anessa's gone?"

"Your sisters are upstairs," muttered Patricia. "They've already ate."

"Ah," said Tyson, and he went to reheat his dinner plate.

Patricia got up and purposefully climbed the stairs. "I need the computer," she announced when she reached the TV room.

"Are you serious?" groaned Bella, sat at the computer behind the couch with her legs comfortably crossed. "I just got on."

"Off," Patricia ordered.

"Fine." Bella sighed. "Just let me close my stuff."

An impatient foot tapped the carpet.

"There," said Bella, leaving the computer seat. "I'm going out with Shawna in a bit anyways."

Not wasting her breath, Patricia took the chair and signed into her account. Keyboarding and computing were required skills for her work, and she swiftly brought up her online banking account.

Since Tyson's sixteenth birthday, Patricia and Roger had put money into a checking account for their son. Patricia had always managed the account, making monthly deposits and occasionally checking transactions. Recently, she had started paying closer attention.

Restaurant charges--dating back to March--had raised the first red flags. A jewelry store purchase in May had elevated her suspicion. The latest account activity, a charge to a gas station in Sweetwater just hours ago, caused Patricia to lean back, her eyes narrowed and mind racing.