Without Merit(20)

I reach out and pet his pathetic head. “Are you sad?” I’ve never seen a grieving pet before. I didn’t even know they could grieve. “Well, you can stay here as long as you need to. I’ll try to hide you from my father as long as I can, but you better not bark all night.”

As soon as I stand up, Wolfgang lifts himself off the ground, just far enough to reach his food bowl. He sniffs the food and then the water, but he lies back down again and whimpers.

Luck appears next to me. “Has he eaten that brand before?” He’s still holding his suitcase, trash bag, and backpack. I look back at the house.

“Why didn’t you just leave your stuff inside?”

He looks down at his stuff and shrugs. He nods his head toward the dog. “What’s wrong with him? Is he dying?”

“No. His owner died yesterday. He showed up in the middle of the night last night because he used to live here.”

“That’s impressive,” Luck says, tilting his head. “What’s your name, dog?” Wolfgang’s eyes scan over Luck, but he doesn’t move.

“He can’t answer you.” I think that goes without saying, but I’m not convinced Luck comprehends how reality works. “His name is Wolfgang.”

“What?” Luck grimaces. “That’s a terrible name. He should have been named Henry.”

“Obviously.” I’m being sarcastic, but again, I’m not sure Luck comprehends that level of communication.

“Are you in mourning?” Luck asks Wolfgang.

“Will you stop asking the dog questions?”

Luck looks at me, perplexed. “Are you always this angry?”

“I’m not angry.” I turn and walk toward the house.

“Well you aren’t not angry,” he mutters from behind me.

Once we’re inside the house, he follows me to Quarter Two. I take him to the spare bedroom across the hall from me. “You can stay in the guest room.” I open the door and pause in the doorway. “Or not.”

There’s stuff all over the guest room. Shoes on the floor, the bed is unmade, there are toiletries on the dresser. Who’s staying here? I walk to the closet and open the door to find several of Sagan’s shirts hanging up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

How could my father allow him to sleep in the same house as her? This is further proof that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care if Honor gets knocked up at seventeen!

Luck slides past me and walks to the wall opposite the door. Several sketches are lying on the dresser. He focuses on a sketch of a man hanging from a ceiling fan by a string of feathers. “Looks like I have a very morbid roommate.”

“You don’t have a roommate,” I say. “He doesn’t live here. I don’t know why all his stuff is here.”

Luck picks up a toothbrush on the nightstand. “You sure he doesn’t live here?”

“You can sleep in my father’s office.” I have Luck follow me to the end of the hallway. “There’s a sofa bed in here. When Sagan leaves, you can have the guest bedroom.”

“His name is Sagan?” Luck follows me into the room and drops his backpack on the sofa. “I can see why you find him intriguing. His art is . . . interesting.”

“I don’t find him intriguing.”

He laughs. “You said in the car you found him intriguing. Is Sagan not the guy who’s dating your sister?”

I close my eyes and release a frustrated breath. I only told him that because I never thought I’d see him again.

Luck props his suitcase against the desk and looks around the room. “It’s not much, but it’s already better than where I’ve been sleeping.”

“You better not repeat that,” I say to him.

He looks at me like I’m the weird one of the two of us. “That this is better than where I’ve been sleeping?”

“No. The other thing. I only told you about my sister’s boyfriend because I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Luck smiles. “Relax, Merit. Your love life doesn’t interest me enough to repeat it.”

I don’t know why, but I believe him. “Thanks. You want a tour of the house?”

He nods. “Eventually. I’d like to unpack first.”

“Okay.”

I turn, expecting him to want privacy, but instead he says, “Why is there a statue of Jesus Christ on the living room wall?” He opens his suitcase and begins pulling out clothes. “Or better yet, why is he dressed like a Packers fan?”

“This used to be a church.” I take a seat on the sofa and watch as he unpacks.

“Is your father a preacher or something?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.”

“What’s the opposite of a preacher? An atheist mime?”

“My dad doesn’t believe in God. But he got a good deal on the church, so he moved us in a few years ago. Right before he started sleeping with my mother’s nurse.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Your father sounds like an asshole.”

I chuckle. “You’re being way too kind.”

Luck pulls a shirt out of his suitcase and walks it to the closet. “What happened after your mom found out about the affair?”