Best Laid Plans (Garnet Run 2)

Simon grinned.

“Snickerdoodles?” Jack asked, hopeful as a puppy.

“Course,” said Simon.

“Molly will pop in for a while, answer any questions people have from a vet’s perspective,” Charlie went on. “And we’ll have that newsletter whatsit...”

“Newsletter sign-up,” Rye said, all business now. “Which will also link them to the website. So make sure you get them to sign up. There’s an iPad on the desk so they can do it here. Do not believe anyone who says they’ll do it later.”

Rye was bouncing on the balls of his toes as he listed things off.

Weeks before, after hours of swearing, googling, and some glares and fisted hands that Charlie feared would lead to the actual throwing of his laptop across the room, Simon had come over and showed Rye how to interlink the website he’d designed, the newsletter Rye had set up, the social media accounts, and the GoFundMe. After that initial tutorial, Rye had navigated it all effortlessly.

He’d put out a call for people to send him pictures of their shelter-adopted cats and had flooded the shelter’s Instagram with their stories of love. He’d linked to every other shelter he could find, getting on their radar, and then contacting them for any insights they could offer about the process. He’d also reposted those shelters’ pictures of cats to spread their reach and linked back to the GoFundMe donation page until that, too, provided them with enough funds to get started.

Charlie hadn’t been at all surprised to find out that despite Rye’s bluntness and lack of interest in small talk in person, he was stellar at drawing people into his orbit.

After all, that was what had happened to Charlie.

At first, Rye had been genuinely shocked by the way the citizens of Garnet Run had shown up for him. How many of them had donated their goods and services for the fundraising auction, donated to the GoFundMe, included links to the shelter on their business’ websites, donated old towels, sheets, and unused pet supplies.

He’d insisted, at the beginning, that it was because of Charlie. But little by little, as people stopped him in the grocery store, at the gas station, at the library, and wanted to talk to him about what he was doing—wanted to help—he began to believe that it was him. That people were invested in him and his vision. That they cared about him. Accepted him.

And with that newfound sense of belonging, Rye had begun to meet Clive Wayne for breakfast at Peach’s Diner on Tuesday mornings, just as his grandfather had done.

Last week, Rye had been quiet all day at work after his breakfast with Clive. He was quiet all through dinner. After dinner, he took a shower and went to bed. Charlie had followed him, crawling into bed with him and lying silently beside him, confident that Rye would tell him whenever he was ready.

“I can’t believe I had someone this whole time,” Rye said after a long quiet spell. “Family. A...connection. Maybe he’d’ve hated me as much as the rest of my family if he met me. But maybe...maybe we would’ve gotten along.”

It had broken Charlie’s heart to watch him swallow hard around the grief of losing someone he’d never known. There was nothing Charlie could say. All he could do was hold Rye close, stroke his back, and rock him as he cried.

Jean’s voice called, “Helloo?” from the front door and they trooped back inside, leaving Marmot to her own devices.

Simon’s grandmother was a force of nature—and a damn good baker to boot. Simon rushed to take the teetering pile of Tupperware from her arms. She patted him on the arm and told him there was more in the car.

“There’s a cat here,” Simon told her. “But just one, and she just got here.”

“Don’t worry about me, dear. I took an allergy pill. I won’t stay too long, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

They arranged the cookies on platters around the front room. Jean had made up little signs that listed the ingredients in everything.

“You’re a gem,” Jack told her. She handed him the snickerdoodle he had clearly been about to help himself to, along with a napkin that he clearly hadn’t.

At eleven, people began to arrive. Rye looked horrified as the trucks pulled in.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s no parking lot,” he said. “I didn’t even think of that?”

Charlie squeezed his arm.

“Any place you can park is a parking lot in Wyoming.” He winked.

“Is that a joke?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Okay. So it’s fine?”

“It’s fine. Now go greet people. And be—”

“Polite, I know.” Rye grinned.

Charlie had actually been about to say Be proud of yourself, but Rye was already padding toward the front door.

Garnet Run came, with Clive Wayne leading the way.

Charlie had known they would. Even people he knew very well thought of cats as nuisances wanted to see what Rye had done with The Dirt Road Cat Shelter.