The Checklist, Addie Woolridge [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

Nicolas might not be evil, but he wasn’t forgiving. The same guy who happily wrote checks to get new basketball nets every year was still holding a grudge against the neighbor who’d scratched his car, even after she’d left a note and paid for a new paint job. Dylan took a sip of her coffee, feeling her heart deflate. The market incident was the kind of thing he would never let go of. He might forgive her or only bring it up once in a blue moon. But forgive her family? Not a chance.

A few months ago, she’d have understood—probably even walked away from her family without much hesitation. She might have missed the occasional Sunday phone call from her dad or the weird memes Neale sent her, but she would adjust to it eventually. Now, it seemed like a lot to give up. Maybe it was just being back in Seattle, but she couldn’t reconcile Nicolas’s growing list of dislikes and his snide comments. The order he brought to her life wasn’t worth the catalog of petty grudges she needed to hold to be with him. Dylan had developed enough of her own stability. She could be left alone, and she wouldn’t implode.

Strange as it seemed, after years of running from her family, she was less afraid of turning into them than of becoming so rigid that she was careless or, worse, cruel. Her family was okay. And it wasn’t like Dylan had any intention of moving in with them or starting to dress like her father, but when push came to shove, they did love her unconditionally. Even if that love was quirky and loud and got on her last good nerve. She couldn’t say that about Nicolas. His love was based on a prescription, a narrow list of behaviors and traits he could tolerate, and she just didn’t have it in her to be those things anymore.

Milo snorted in agreement, bringing her back to the room and the rapidly cooling cup of coffee in her hands.

“You’re right; I’m a smart girl. I’ll be okay,” Dylan said. The large dog groaned and stretched himself off the bed in an oddly feline way, then flopped down on the floor to signal his disinterest in the continued assessment of her downward spiral.

“I just need to make a few phone calls, research storage units, then moving companies,” Dylan mumbled, looking for a pen and notepad to start her list.

Catching sight of her work computer, she remembered another less-than-happy surprise. Turning to her canine therapist, she added, “I forgot about that stupid retreat. I need to make a packing list too.”

The overwhelming smell of pine trees hit Dylan as she swung herself out of the driver’s side door. Feeling the cold settle into her cheeks, she was glad she’d raided Bernice’s extensive collection of Nano Puff jackets. Her mother might be the only person every shade of pea green, sky blue, and fuchsia looked good on. But the jacket did pack into tiny spaces, so at least Dylan was traveling light while looking like a paint sample from the eighties.

Squinting across the parking lot, she could see Deep lugging an enormous orange suitcase toward a rustic-looking great hall, whose heyday had probably been sometime before Nixon was president.

“Need help?”

“No. I need civilization,” Deep said, twisting the suitcase over the gravel and looking up. “What are you wearing?”

“I’m warm, and that is what counts,” Dylan said, dodging a particularly large puddle. “Are you running away from home or something?”

“Ha. Ha. I’m allergic to nature. My mother is the Queen of the Outdoors. I spent every summer until I was eighteen backpacking and memorizing plants and shit,” Deep said, shaking the hair out of her eyes. “I’ve made a full recovery. Thanks for asking.”

“Are you serious? We should form some sort of support group. Children of REI Addicts. This jacket is from my mother’s exceptional collection of quilted, waterproof paraphernalia.”

Deep stopped to heave the suitcase up the first step to the hall entrance. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“You understand how the jacket happened to me?”

“God, no. I understand you. The jacket is unforgivable. I’d rather freeze to death than be seen in a Gene Simmons reject.”

“Geometric is making a comeback,” Dylan chuckled, grabbing the handle of the suitcase to help her heft the thing.

“Even if it does, that sad shade of mauve will never—” Deep paused as they reached the glass door. “Oh my God.”

“No.”

“It’s so—” Deep said, choking on her words, a massive grin creeping across her face.

“How did no one vet this?”

“I don’t think anyone needed to—wait for it—”

“You better not make that pun.” Dylan recoiled from the door.

“Wait for it.”

“You are the worst.”

“Vet anything. Get it? ’Cause they are all dead!” Deep cackled, her breath fogging up the glass in front of them. “Don’t worry. I’m sure someone prayed for their souls.” She doubled over, forcing Dylan to take a second look at the hall. She could almost feel her email exploding with complaints as she faced the window.

As expected, there were animal heads mounted on the walls. What was not expected was that those heads would still be attached to stuffed bodies, taxidermized and mounted on shelves, teeth gnashing and claws bared.

What Dylan never could have dreamed of was that they would be carefully arranged around the most massive crucifix she had ever seen.

“I don’t understand the theme of the decor. How are these two things even related?” Dylan asked, once Deep had straightened up.

“Are you setting me up for jokes?”

“You’re right. Don’t answer me,” Dylan said. She sucked in a big gulp of air before reaching for the handle. “After you.”

“Jesus walks ahead of—”

“Don’t make it worse,” Dylan hissed, grabbing the suitcase and pushing it through the door after her friend.

In contrast to the smell of pines outside, the hall smelled like fluorescent chlorine and the kind of powdered eggs that came in