Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
GUESS WHAT???
Uh, what?
PetShare is going to link to the shelter gofundme!
The fuck is PetShare?
It’s the app that matched me with Jack when he needed a dog walker. Dog and cat walker. I emailed them and told them the whole story of how I met Jack and what you wanted to do with the shelter and they said no at first but then I guess someone higher up in the company is a huge rescue cat lover and heard about it, so we’re in!
Dude that’s amazing.
There was an ellipsis that showed Simon searching for a gif, then one of a circus ringleader bowing low.
You’re a fucking star at this shit! What do I have to do? Rye asked.
I got it, Simon replied. But I need a name SOON!
Rye wasn’t sure why the name for the shelter was proving such a challenge. Nearly every shelter he looked up online was either named after the place it was located or had a cutesy, animal-punny name.
Just pick something, he told himself for the hundredth time. But nothing felt right. He’d thought of naming it after his grandfather, since it had been his house, but Granger sounded like grungy and The Granger Cat Shelter didn’t sound good. He didn’t want to use the Janssen part of his grandfather’s name because then it would seem like he was naming it after himself. Besides, he knew from a lifetime’s experience that everyone would leave out the second s.
He was still agonizing over the name when he walked into Peach’s Diner to meet Clive for breakfast. He was excited to tell his grandfather’s best friend that he was honoring Granger’s legacy. At least, he hoped Clive would see it that way.
Clive was in the booth he’d shared with Granger—the booth Rye had gravitated toward when he first met Clive—and he raised a hand in greeting.
“Hey, Clive, thanks for meeting me.”
“Morning, son. I’m glad you called.”
In fact, Rye hadn’t called. He’d texted and Clive had called him, saying he didn’t mess around with buttons.
Melba poured them coffee and Rye said hello without insulting her name, so he thought things were off to a pretty good start. Rye ordered biscuits and gravy and Clive got a fond expression in his eyes. He didn’t order, just nodded to Melba who clearly knew what he wanted.
While they waited for the food, they chatted about the bird feeders Clive had built out back of his house. Clive, it turned out, was an avid birder, and regaled Rye with the many species he’d seen from his porch. Rye knew nothing at all about birds, but when Clive invited him on a bird walk he accepted immediately.
One of the things Rye had been thinking about a lot the last couple of weeks was how little he knew himself in this new context.
It was Charlie who’d inspired the thought. After their disagreement about the risks and rewards posed by letting River and the other kids hang out at the Crow Lane house, Charlie had thought about it a lot. Charlie’d said that trying a lot of different interests felt like one more thing he had missed out on in the wild crush of responsibility foisted upon him. The more he’d thought about it, the more Charlie had discovered opinions and curiosities he hadn’t known he had.
And Rye had realized that although there were parts of himself that felt constant—his values, his ethics, his politics—there were other parts that had been formed in Seattle and weren’t relevant anymore. Things he’d hewn to because of necessity, habit, and lack of imagination, but that he didn’t have to. He’d begun to wonder what this new Rye—this Garnet Run Rye—would be like. And he was taking every opportunity to find out.
Their food came and Rye savored the first bite.
“So, um, I wanted to tell you about what I’m gonna do with my grandfather’s house. Granger’s house.”
“You aren’t going to live there?”
“Well I was, but, um.”
Rye had no idea if the well-oiled rumor mill of Garnet Run extended to Clive. Rye had watched with twinned delight and horror when a customer at Matheson’s Hardware had tried to set Charlie up with her daughter and Charlie had pulled Rye close to him and said politely. “Thank you so much for thinking of me, but I already have a boyfriend.”
The woman had goggled for a moment, then nodded, given Rye a rather thorough perusal, and raised an eyebrow at Charlie.
“Good for you,” she’d said, and although Charlie insisted she had included both of them in that “you,” Rye disagreed. But he hadn’t minded, because although the encounter had resulted in a sudden after-lunch epidemic of sudden-onset DIY fever that required a mob of people who’d never patronized Matheson’s before to purchase one nail each, it had also put a smile on Charlie’s face and made him walk around like he was even taller for the next several days.