Page 3 of Five Stolen Rings
India
You’re my best friend and I’ll always love you.
What would make you feel better?
Want a ride on my motorcycle?
Me
No way. That thing is a death trap.
India
Don’t talk about my baby like that.
What about puppies?
Come by Pampered Pup tomorrow and I’ll let you pet one of the puppies.
Me
Are you allowed to let me pet a puppy?
India
…Maybe?
Me
I’ll be there at ten.
India Marigold has been one of my best friends since elementary school. She’s a few years younger than me, but we were neighbors growing up, and we hit it off from the first time we met. She knowsme well enough to know that petting a few dogs will indeed improve my mood.
“There’s nothing wrong with living in your hometown,” India says now, securing her long red hair into a ponytail as she maneuvers around the kennel room, spray bottle tucked under one arm. “Ido. All my siblings do.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice strained as I pass her a cleaning rag. “But do you live in your parents’ basement?”
“Well,” she says, spritzing down an empty kennel. “No.”
“And are you working for your parents?”
Because yes, that is correct—not only am I living under my parents’ roof once more, but they are also employing me at the market our family owns. I live in the same house and have the same job as when I was sixteen. From dust I came, and to dust I have returned.
I love my parents dearly. They’re great. But Icannotlive knowing they’re providing my housing and my income.
India shoots me an apologetic look. “Fine. No. I’m not living with my parents or working for them.” Then she adopts the straightforward, no-nonsense expression I know so well. “But there’s still nothingwrongwith that, Stell. You’re figuring things out. That’s allowed.”
“I know,” I say; it’s sort of a lie. I’m not sure what I know and what I don’t know. But I just take the cleaner as she hands it to me. I spray a few squirts in the kennel next to me and then grab a rag of my own and begin wiping down.
“And there’s no chance…” India trails off into a silence that hovers awkwardly. “There’s no chance that you could get your old job back?”
I haven’t told her what happened, and because she’s incredible, she hasn’t asked any more after I said I didn’t want to talk about it yet.
“No,” I say as my cheeks burn with humiliation; I duck my head so she won’t see. “I definitely can’t get it back.” Then I clear my throat. “I’m house-sitting for a lady starting today, though. That’s something, I guess.” Asmallsomething, but something nonetheless.
“Are you?” India says, looking surprised as she glances over her shoulder at me. Then she turns her attention back to the kennel she’s scrubbing. “Since when? Who?”
“Since yesterday,” I say. “She’s someone my mom knows. She lives up in the foothills.”