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  She set her glass down and managed to squeak out, “He has to keep up appearances with his job, and me taking care of him, making sure he has everything he needs all of the time, is a big part of that. If I have spare time, I can volunteer. If the charity is suitable.”

  Mare seemed to be struggling to find her voice, but at last she said, “You’re actually joking. Right?”

  “No,” Mindy said, shaking her head. She remembered when she had been nominated for Kiwanis Secretary. Jeff had been furious. How dare she be nominated to be an officer before he was? How dare she have a goal or dream? How dare she upstage him? Did she sleep with the nominating committee? If that’s all it took to get a nomination, why didn’t she do it to get him on the ballot?

  He’d struck her then, the first and only time he’d escalated from verbal to physical abuse. She’d called a lawyer the next day, but it had been so expensive, thousands of dollars for a retainer. And Jeff never let her have more than twenty bucks at once. She was trapped, and he liked it that way.

  Mindy took a breath and said, “Jeff, he wants, arrgh, wanted to move up at the bank and part of that’s participating in community activities. Being noticed. Ya know? And I had to help him. It’s really not a big deal.”

  Nicole tossed the towel on the counter and sat. She started to speak, then stopped herself and shook her head.

  Mare said, “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

  “Me either,” Nic mumbled, looking away as she sipped her tea. “Aaron knows I’d kick his freaking butt if he tried to tell me what I could or couldn’t do.”

  “Not supposed to cuss, Mom!” Nic’s daughter hollered from the living room.

  “I didn’t,” Nic hollered back.

  Mindy took a breath. “I’m guessing your husband loves you. Jeff… I thought I’d won the luck lottery when he came along, yet look what he did to me.”

  She held Nic’s distrustful gaze and her voice cracked as she said, “I think it’s his fault I’m dead. Was dead. Shit.” And now I’m cursing. Way to go, Mindy. She scrunched her eyes closed for a moment. “Whatever you call this—“

  The little girl, Steffie, bounced in with a blue mason jar in hand. It was partially filled with change. “You said the S word. It costs a quarter,” she said, grinning as she thrust the jar toward Mindy.

  Mare covered a chuckle with her hand while Nicole gaped. “Stefanie Cheyenne! We don’t know her well enough to make her pay the cuss jar!”

  “But, Mama, you said that everyone had to pay when they cuss. Isn’t she everyone? That repairman had to pay last week when he said the S word after hurting his finger. Why him and not her?”

  “Well, yes, but,” Nic blustered, pointing. “Go on back in the living room with your brother.”

  “I’d happily pay, but I don’t have a quarter,” Mindy murmured before Steffie could turn to go. I don’t have anything.

  “I got it,” Mare said, rummaging in her pocket. “I think.” She produced a dime, two nickels, and some pennies. “Twenty-three cents,” she said, dropping them into the jar. “Close enough?”

  “You can get me the two other cents later.” Grinning, Steffie bounced back to the living room.

  “How old is she?” Mindy asked, watching her go.

  “Four and a half,” Nicole sighed. “Going on thirty.”

  Mindy smiled. “She’s good at math.”

  “It’s that jar,” Nicole said. “Aaron started it when he was home for Christmas, to keep himself from swearing too much around the kids. When he asked Steffie what to do with the money, she said she wanted an American Girl doll, of all things.” Nicole sipped her tea. “More than a hundred bucks, but we’re saving up for one. And Steffie keeps track of every penny.”

  “Good for her,” Mindy said. “She’s obviously a smart kid.”

  “Heh,” Nicole said. “Determined is more like it.”

  Mare stretched and popped her neck. “Oh yes, we’ve all seen pictures of the doll and the outfits she needs to have for it. She was up to twenty six dollars in the jar, last I knew.”

  “Almost thirty now,” Nicole said. “Aaron promised to take her to the Mall of America to pick it out in person.” She gazed toward the living room and sighed. “I hope he’s home before she hits the hundred bucks.”

  “I’m sure he will be,” Mare said, touching the back of Nicole’s hand.

  Silence settled around them and Mindy considered asking about where Aaron was stationed, but sipped her tea instead.

  Nicole let out another sigh then turned to Mindy. “So. What are you going to do about your husband?”

  Mindy raised her head and blinked, startled by the question. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “Oh, I’d be thinking about it,” Nicole said. “I’d go after his ass— Assets, that’s for sure.”

  Mindy sighed. “Not sure how. He has a new wife, a new job, even a new state. And I don’t really exist, not legally anyway.”

  Something thumped and Pip, the little boy, screeched from the living room. Nicole stood. “There has to be a way around that. A way to remind that controlling jerk that paybacks are a bitch.”

  “Mom! You said the B word!”

  Nicole continued on to the living room. “Grab my purse while I see what your brother got into.”

  Mindy watched her leave and, as she returned her attention to the table, noticed that Mare was looking at her intently. Mindy blushed and lowered her eyes. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  “Nope,” Mare said. “But you shouldn’t let anyone control you like that. Ever.”

  Braving the oppressive weather, Sean walked up a dirt road north of town, his gaze downward and his mind churning over his lack of employment. I should contact city tourism boards and chambers of commerce, he thought as he trudged along. See if anyone needs illustrations or logos for craft fairs or corn feeds, maybe a Character Counts promotion for school—

  An MSNBC truck sped past, splattering him with mud. He looked up, surprised to see a long line of news vehicles parked a few hundred yards ahead.

  Barronsen Poultry’s gates had been closed—first time I’ve ever seen that, Sean thought—and the press milled in the road. Sean noted the chain link fence encircling the property. He turned, jumping across a flooded ditch to a tree line separating the farm’s fence from a field of soybeans.

  The beans weren’t much taller than knee high, giving him no cover from vehicles approaching from the south, and the thin strand of trees and brush weren’t any better at hiding him from the north. He felt exposed as he walked toward the back of the chicken farm.

  A sheriff’s SUV sped up the road, lights and siren on. Sean ducked and watched the SUV drive toward the reporters, but the farm’s long pre-fab buildings blocked the rest of the view.

  If I can’t see them, they can’t see me, he decided, walking along the edge of the tangle as he let his gaze drift over the poultry farm.

  The place was tidy, modern, and mowed, emitting only a mild ammonia stink to the air, even from the containment ponds not far past the fence. He saw massive feeding bins and ventilation fans alongside the nearest poultry barn. A row of livestock transport trailers and an end loader stood between a pair of towering corn cribs about midway to the far corner. A tabby cat sunned itself on the upper slope of the end loader’s bucket, utterly unconcerned with whatever was happening near the road.

  Sean reached the corner of the property and climbed through blackberry bushes to reach the chain link fence. He saw more of the same. Eight poultry barns parallel to one another. Massive grain bins. A storage shed with a garbage dumpster alongside. Long swaths of mown grass contained by pristine chain link that separated the farm from the wild tangle behind and the bean field beyond. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, and the ordinary was clean and in good repair, except that the storage shed could use a
coat of paint. Maybe I was wrong, he thought, sighing as he turned toward the road again. The containment ponds don’t even reek. I can’t see how this place is putting—

  He turned back. The tangle of undergrowth and trash trees he stood in thickened as it rounded the corner of the poultry farm, and continued beyond the fence, gaining more trees on its course down to the creek. Sean took a breath and walked deeper into the brush along the back of the farm. Broken furniture and rusted appliances soon littered the bramble and the deepening trench. He’d passed all but two of the poultry barns when he started smelling the familiar, moldy funk coming from the ditch. His heart quickened and he stepped down the slope, skirting around a marshy sea of garbage and junk, typical refuse illegally dumped in so many isolated ditches. A scrawny young frog swam bored circles in a plastic peanut butter jar just beyond Sean’s feet; it had probably jumped in but couldn’t climb back out.

  Sean dumped the frog into the marshy mess and tossed the jar aside.

  As the musty stink thickened, he continued downhill, tripping over rusted, half-buried barrels, tractor parts, and tires. Decayed machinery he couldn’t identify rotted among the trees.

  He paused, eyes widening. A miniature slime mass quivered in a stretch of trickling water. He crouched to examine it. Not much larger than a golf ball, it was a diminutive version of the foamy wad that had produced a woman the night before. He touched its fluffy, slimy surface and a shuddering ripple of blue-violet circled the mass, flowing outward from his fingertip across the surface of the water.

  As he stood, he noticed more frothy spheres peeking from the water, partially hidden by foliage but obvious once he’d seen the first. Some were the size of melons, but most were miniscule. He saw bits of clear slime, too, caught upon submerged grasses and twigs.

  Well ahead, an apple-sized wad released streaks of bubbles and he splashed to it, kneeling on a mossy scrap of plastic to keep his knees dry.

  Wish I brought my camera, he thought, then shook his head. Todd had destroyed his memory card, making the camera useless. Silent and enthralled, Sean watched the sphere fall apart, finally dissolving to expose a thirteen-lined ground squirrel—a squinney—taking a desperate gasp of air. The little rodent shuddered, tail floating in the water, and blinked at him with violet eyes, unafraid.

  “Hey, little guy,” Sean said, grinning as the squinney climbed out on quivering legs. It chattered at him, and he stroked the top of its head. “Aren’t you an amazing thing?” he whispered.

  It blinked, eyes darkening, and it backed away. Another blink and its eyes had darkened again to shiny black. Moments later, it bustled up the ditch and disappeared into the bramble.

  I don’t care if they think I’m crazy, it’s still a miracle. The refuse beneath Sean shifted as he stood. He propellered his arms for balance but fell on his ass in the muddy water anyway.

  He stood again, cursing and scraping off the worst of the gunk. A cracked shard of fiberglass had flipped into the water. It had once been part of a sign, painted maroon with white letters and most of a flower. Although quite faded and crusty, he could make out Lotus Lab over Parkin before the broken edges cut off the remaining type. He looked where the hunk of sign had lain. A spongy fungal mesh spread over the filthy refuse the sign had covered. Sean reached into nearby rotten leaves and grasses, peeling them away to expose more of the mesh, which sent tendrils into the water.

  Is this where it started? he thought, looking around. Looks right, smells right. He picked up the scrap of fiberglass and frowned at it. Lotus Lab. Makes a lot more sense than chickens or regular ditch crap. Sign in hand, he climbed out of the ditch and headed for home.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Mindy asked, ducking out of the way.

  Mare rubbed her lower belly as she hurried through the kitchen. The nursing home had called, asking her to arrive early because another aide was sick. Although she’d muttered about her own stomach pain, she’d agreed.

  “Um. You can rotate laundry for me, I guess.” Mare sat to put on socks and shoes. “Sean can fold it when he gets home.”

  “Laundry. Got it,” Mindy said. “What about cleaning? Supper?”

  “Sean usually does that since he’s home all day.” Mare stood, her hand still rubbing her lower belly. “Maybe I should just stay here. Screw the job—“

  Why the sudden change of heart? Mindy wondered. At Nicole’s you practically prayed for more hours. “You said you’d go in.”

  “Yeah, but what if…” Mare shook her head, her eyes worried. “Sean’s not home yet. I should wait for him.”

  “I can tell him his mother called. I’ll rotate laundry. I’ll even thaw something for supper. It’ll be fine.”

  Mare sighed, nodding, but didn’t seem convinced. She rummaged through her purse. “Godammit, where’d I put my keys?”

  “By the microwave?” Mindy suggested, pointing.

  Mare snatched them up and took a breath to speak, but someone knocked on the door. Both women stopped to stare toward the living room. Mindy released a scared groan as her belly clenched. She took an involuntary step back, against the counter, and felt her heart thud. Not the cops again. Please.

  Mare licked her lips and took a breath before she patted Mindy’s arm. “I’ll see who it is.”

  Mindy moved across the room, out of sight but able to listen as Mare opened the door.

  “Um,” a woman’s quavering voice said, “this is gonna sound totally crazy, but homebaker115 said the guy who lives here could help me. Are you homebaker115?”

  Mindy’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh God.”

  “Excuse me?” Mare said.

  “My… My son,” the woman said, followed by a child’s nervous ‘hey’, “after the guy talking about dead people… He was on TV. Last night?”

  Mindy peeked around the corner as Mare leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

  “Yes, of course,” the woman said, nodding. “I know it’s crazy. My son, he…” She swallowed, eyes brimming. “Our dog…”

  “You came to tell me about your dog?”

  “Never mind. I knew this was crazy.” The woman lowered her head and took a step back. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “But what about Betsy?!” The kid tugged on her arm. “You promised!”

  Mindy steeled herself and stepped into the living room. “I’m homebaker115.”

  The woman took a breath and managed a stiff smile. “Was it real? What you’d posted last night? The crazy guy we saw on the news?” Before Mindy could respond, the woman caressed the back of her son’s head and said, “We’ve had Betsy since she was a puppy and she’s just amazing. Sweet, friendly, but protective, ya know? Last year, even, she saved Joey from what we think might have been a kidnapper. We love that dog.”

  “But she got hit by a car,” Mindy said, approaching them.

  “Last night. Killed right in front of our house when we let her out to pee.” The little boy wrapped his arms around his mother’s hips. “We’d just seen the news, with that guy who said the dead people came back. Sean Casey? He lives in this house, right?”

  Mare and Mindy nodded.

  “Anyway, after the news, Joey was convinced that Betsy could come back, too. He wouldn’t let it go, you know how kids are. So he, well, we, got online to see if there was more information. It didn’t look good, but when we got up this morning homebaker115 had commented that she didn’t understand it, but it really happened. It was possible. And she had proof.”

  Mare turned, gaping. “You what?”

  “She sounded so upset, so worried about her son,” Mindy said, flinching and wishing she could crawl away. “I had to say something.”

  The woman took a breath and looked at Mindy and Mare. “So we found where Sean Casey lived, and thought we’d start with him.” She wiped at the corner of her eye and said,
“Can you help us? Is there any possible way we can get our Betsy ba—“

  She turned as Sean walked up the sidewalk. He was splattered with mud and greenish gunk, and he carried a filthy shard of plastic. The woman took a startled step. “It’s really you! The zombie guy! You’re finally here!”

  Sean paused, then continued up the steps. “Yeah,” he said, trying to slip past. “But they’re not zombies, they’re just people given a second chance. Excuse me, okay? Can I get into my own house, please?”

  The woman stepped aside, nodding. “Sure. Absolutely.”

  “Where have you been and what’d you fall into?” Mare asked. “Your note said you were taking a walk, not a slog through a swamp.”

  Despite the muck, he kissed her, leaning forward to avoid staining her scrubs. “I’ll tell you in the other room.”

  He took a step toward the kitchen the woman called out, “Wait! So this really is real? You can save our dog?”

  Sean stopped, head tilting, and turned to ask, “Your dog?”

  “Betsy. I was just telling these ladies that she got hit by a car last night, and that one there,” she said, pointing at Mindy, “commented online to my son that maybe Betsy could be saved, could be brought back to us.”

  “I don’t have any control over this,” Sean said. “It’s a miracle, sure, but it’s not my miracle.”

  “But you’re the miracle guy!” the woman said, her voice rising in grief and desperation. “Please. For my son, for our family, can’t we just try to give Betsy a chance to come back?”

  Mare scowled and Mindy tried to shrink, become invisible, but Sean stood there, staring at the woman. At last he nodded. “Bury her in a wet spot,” he told her. “The closer to the water the better. Okay? I don’t know what will happen, but that’s your best chance.”