The Right Wrong Number

The Right Wrong NumberKATIE WARRENWild One Press LLC Copyright © 2023 KATIE WARRENAll rights reserved.Printed in the United States of America. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, trademarks, and places are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are only used for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or used in any matter without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews. The scanning, uploading, or distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property.For information address [email protected] Design by Govina TaylorASIN: B0BY3HD8Z8ISBN: 978-1-959553-06-9 DEDICATIONTo my dad—who always said I should write a book.Here it is.Do not read it. And to my husband—my biggest cheerleader,who every time I said I wanted to quit writing this,he said, "Okay." PROLOGUEJulesEvery time you see a funeral in the movies, it’s a dreary rainy day, and the wind picks up at just the right time, letting everyone know their loved one is there watching over them. But that’s not what James’s funeral is like.No, he had to make sure it was a perfect North Carolina day. Sunny and mild with no humidity and no sudden breeze to tell me he’s here, watching over us.I’m flanked by my best friend Nora and my mother, one on each side of me. They each hold one of my arms, like they’re making sure I don’t drop to my knees. I’m not sobbing. I’m not upset. I’m not anything. I’m numb. The only thoughts in my mind are that I’m going to have to be the one who picks up the dry cleaning. I’m going to be the one who feeds the evil cat that is Fishsticks. I’ll never see the toothpaste James so stubbornly left behind in the sink. Who thinks about toothpaste during a funeral?Standing at the edge of his grave, my feet sink into the soft earth beneath me. I stare at his closed casket, but all I see is his face dripping blood behind the wheel of his car. All I hear is screeching and honking, the last sounds James heard. Even though I never saw any of it, even though I wasn’t even there, my mind makes up what it could have been, what it probably was.No, I wasn’t there to die with him. I was asleep in a dream land, while my husband took his last breath. I was completely unaware that when I woke up my life would never be the same.Lifting a scoop of dirt in my palms, I shift it around in my hands. Clutching it tightly, I don’t want to let it drop. The second this dirt leaves my hands is the second James will cease to exist in any physical sense. Reluctantly, I CHAPTER 1FishsticksDear Diary,I may be a simple cat, but I know there are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Or is it three hundred and sixty-six? I can never be sure. Cat days are different from human days, as we only mark time by the humans’ activities. Days do not matter much to me anymore because I do not care about the humans in my enclosure, in fact, I loathe them.They are no comparison to the human that used to be mine. My human gave me timely water bowl changes, treats when I meowed in the correct tone, appropriate scritches under my chin at my demand, and most of all, Tuna Tuesdays.Despite the tragic loss of chin scritches, the sweet talking I deserve, and James’ ever-inviting lap to curl up on, my misery does not end there. No. Forget the dire loss of one’s loving human!Universe, how you mock me with the added trials you have hoisted upon my nine lives. Not only have I been feeling unwell, my endless supply of kibble that James used to provide has been sanctioned by the two cruel creatures in my enclosure. To make matters worse, I have not had a Tuna Tuesday in what feels like at least three of my lives. Sanction my kibble if you want, but how dare they take away my Tuna Tuesdays!I do not know what James ever saw in this Jules. That human’s lap is too solid and bony. I find just as much comfort sleeping on the hardwood floor.Out of pure desperation, I once let him pet me on a Thursday afternoon. He was scritching all the wrong places, and he had the audacity to pat my butt in a very offensive manner. He forced my paw, and I had to get out my scratchers. And for fuck’s sake, he is not the only one who’s depressed, yet I must remind him every morning to drag himself out of bed just to