Without Merit(75)

“Gross,” I say, swiping his arm and the smoothie away. “I’m not tasting that crap.”

“It’s good.” He holds it out for me again. “I promise, just taste it.”

I take the smoothie and taste the damn thing. Sure enough, it tastes like someone took a bunch of vegetables, blended them together and threw tasteless vitamins in the mix. I wince and hand it back to him. “Disgusting.”

“Sucker,” Sagan says.

The back door opens and my father walks in. “Something is wrong with that dog,” he says, washing dirt off his hands. He dries them on a towel. “Has he been that lethargic since he showed up?”

I shrug. “He looked better yesterday.” I walk past him and out the back door. I can hear Sagan following me. The three of us make it to Wolfgang’s doghouse, and I kneel down and touch him on the top of his head. “Hey, buddy.”

He looks up at me with the same lack of enthusiasm he’s had since he showed up Sunday night. His tail twitches again, but he makes no effort to stand up. Or lick me.

“Has he been acting like that all week?” my dad asks.

I nod, just as my dad squats down. He runs his hand down Wolfgang’s back and it’s honestly a sight I never thought I’d see. My father and this dog . . . together again.

“I thought he was just depressed,” I say. I feel bad for not making more of a fuss about his temperament, but I don’t know anything about dogs.

“I called the vet yesterday,” Sagan says. “They said they could squeeze him in tomorrow but I don’t think he can wait that long.”

“Which vet?” my father asks.

“The one out on 30, near the Goodwill.”

“That’s close to work,” my father says. He slips his hands beneath Wolfgang. “I’ll drop him off on my way in, see if they can check him out sooner.” My father nudges his head toward the gate on the side of the house. “Merit, go open that gate so I can get him to my truck.”

I run and open the gate, then I run and open the passenger door to my father’s truck. He places Wolfgang in the passenger seat. Wolfgang doesn’t even seem to care that he’s been moved. “You think he’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know,” my Dad says. “I’ll let you know what they say.” He walks around to the driver’s side and climbs in. He begins to back out, but he stops the truck and calls me over to his window. “I forgot to give this to you the other night when you asked for it,” he says, handing me a sack. I take it from him and watch as he continues backing out of the driveway.

Once he’s gone, I look down and open the sack. Inside is a trophy. I had forgotten all about asking him for one. I pull out the trophy and it’s a statue of a tennis player.

“What’d you win this time?” Sagan asks.

I read the small plaque on the bottom of the trophy. “‘State Tennis champs, 2005.’?”

He laughs. “You were a little child prodigy.” He walks to his car and opens the door. “You need a ride to school today?”

I narrow my eyes at him. He knows I haven’t been going to school lately. “Nice try.”

He climbs in the car. “Worth a shot,” he says, closing the door. He rolls down the window and says, “I’ll text you if I get any updates about Wolfgang from your dad.”

I nod, but then I tilt my head. “Why would he give you updates?”

“Because . . . I work for him?”

“You do?” Wow. I’m so out of the loop.

He laughs. “Did you really not know that?”

I shake my head. “I knew you had a job, but I’ve just never asked what it was.”

“Your dad gave me a job and let me move in the first day I met him. That’s why I like him so much, even though you can’t stand him most of the time.”

He looks over his shoulder and backs out of the driveway. Before he pulls onto the road, he gives me a small wave. I wave back and watch him drive off.

I don’t know how long I stand in the driveway, watching the empty road. I just feel so . . . lost? I don’t know. Nothing really makes sense this week.

I go back inside and spend the next several hours wasting time.

I mostly watch TV, but I can’t stop checking my phone for updates. I still haven’t heard from my father. I’ve only received one text and it was from my mother, asking if I’d come to the basement sometime this afternoon. I responded to her and told her I was busy. She replied with, “Okay. Maybe tomorrow.”

I know I said I was never going to the basement again, but I only said that because I was angry. I’ll visit her eventually, but right now I’m still upset with her. And my father. Still confused by how Victoria can choose to remain in such a strange marital environment.

And I still don’t know what the hell the placebo pills are for.

I hate that I have any sort of resentment in me after hearing what Sagan’s going through. But for some reason, his issues haven’t negated mine at all and I hate that. I hate that I’m still emotionally affected by the poor choices of my parents when I should be lucky that I know they’re alive. It makes me feel weak. And petty.

I kick my feet up on the kitchen table and text my father.

Me: Any word from the vet?