Home Is Where Your Bark Is

Chapter 30

It had been a crapshoot, attempting to find where Jake had parked, given how she’d taken nothing more than a split-second glance at the location he’d shared with her before losing her phone, but she was giving it her best shot. The longer she was out here, the more likely it was that either he was gone or her chances of connecting with him were less than walking around a corner and spying someone out sunbathing in this snowstorm.

He’d met her at 113th and Western, and his parked Jeep had been somewhere northeast of there, but in this cold, each block seemed not only farther and farther apart but also painfully desolate after the parade goers departed seemingly en masse.

If only she’d memorized Jake’s number! He still had a Racine area code, and she’d memorized a handful of the other seven digits, but not all of them and not in the right order. She’d ducked into a bustling and rowdy pub earlier and used the hostess’s cell phone to try a couple different variations but with no luck. They’d either been nonworking or wrong numbers. She’d also left a message on Monica’s cell after she didn’t pick up. She’d explained what happened and promised to call again once she either connected with Jake or gave up looking for him.

Her numb fingers clenched into fists and buried deep in her jeans’ pockets, Jenna rounded the corner of 112th and Hoyne and scanned both sides of the street, some part of her still holding out hope to spy Jake’s Jeep idling next to the curb, Jake and Seven waiting inside.

Nothing. “Seeeveeen!” The call was swallowed up by the falling snow that seemed to stop the sound from carrying, but she kept calling for him anyway.

The one thing she’d done right today was wear her warmest wool socks and thermal long underwear, but her cute leather combat lace-ups were soaked through, as were her clothes. Her toes stung, and everything else had gone numb. Tears meandered down her cheeks with less hurry than the dripping of her nose in this cold.

“Seven! Here, boy! Here, Seven!”

The snow was picking up, and it was nearly dark. Disorienting as the cold and tumbling snow were, Jenna could only guess as to the time, but she needed to face the facts. Wherever Jake was, it was impossible to believe he’d still be waiting by the curb for her to show up.

Most of the mom-and-pop businesses in the area were closed, and she would not be walking up to someone’s house asking to use their phone, but she’d passed a food mart a few blocks back on Longwood that had still been open. The second she admitted to herself she was giving up, her already-depleted energy fled like a drain plug had been pulled. Each step back in the direction she’d come was like walking in deep sand.

This section of the South Side mostly consisted of houses dotted with restaurants, pubs, and mom-and-pop businesses, nearly all of which were decorated for Saint Patrick’s Day, and the shiny green ornaments, wreaths, and lights stuck out in contrast with the snow, but when out of the corner of her eye, Jenna caught a swath of blue wrapped around the cap of a post of someone’s privacy fence, something about it stopped her in her tracks. It looked like the handle of a leash. A blue leash. Like Seven’s.

Finding energy she didn’t know she had, Jenna burst into a run as she crossed the street. The house was dark inside, and it didn’t seem as if anyone was home to object or for her to notify, so she crossed the grass over to the fence, the snow crunching under her boots as she walked. It was a five-foot wooden privacy fence with capped posts every eight or so feet, and there, on the third cap over, was an inch-wide blue strap that on one side was half-covered with snow.

It seemed impossible she could’ve spotted it from the opposite side of the street in such heavy snowfall, and she reached out with trembling hands. Sure enough, it was the handle of a blue nylon leash dangling just inside the fence. Maybe it belonged to the family who lived here. Maybe they hung it here so they could hook up their dog and head straight out the gate, but Jenna pulled it over anyway. Her heart both lifted and sank to find a collar attached. Both collar and leash were a bright, crisp blue and hardly worn in, not weathered at all, and the leash handle was double lined. Just like Seven’s. The quality was obvious in the stitching and the smooth, thick nylon. Jenna remembered her sister mentioning the independent store where she’d bought them only a month and a half ago. Turning it in her hand, Jenna spotted several long white hairs stuck at the edge of the snap where it joined the nylon.

Rising up onto her toes, she peered over the side and into the yard. “Seven! Here, boy! Are you in there, Seven?” It was a small backyard with little more than a covered grill, a collection of empty planters, and a tall stack of wood, all of which were covered in snow.

It took her a moment to spot them, but once she did, there was no mistaking them for anything else. A line of tracks now mounded over with additional snow led across the yard to the back side of the fence in front of the alley.

“Seven!” she yelled as loudly as she could.

Her only answer was the muted silence of the falling snow. Even the wind had stilled.

He hadn’t stayed, but Seven had been here. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was the best Jenna had. Draping the leash and collar over her shoulder and shoving her frozen hands back in her pockets, Jenna looked up and down the street to see which way would give her quickest access to the alley.

As she headed down to the sidewalk, the snow crunching underneath her, the shiny gleam of green metal dangling off the collar caught her attention. Lifting it, Jenna blinked in surprise to spy a clover-shaped tag that read “Seven” on the front in a big, playful font. She’d had no idea Jake had bought this, but it had to have been put onto the collar by him, seeing how he’d given Seven his name.

When she turned it over, tears flooded her eyes. There, in a smaller version of the same font, was Seven’s name once again, Jake’s address, and a Racine-based number. Just waiting for her to find it.