Chapter 14
The next morning I woke to a whispered darkness. “Mom?” came a hushed voice. “Are you awake yet?”
I rolled over, eliciting a protest from the cat. “I am now.”
“Good.” Oliver turned on the overhead light, blasting the room with too many lumens. Before my eyes un- squinched, he’d jumped onto the bed and settled down as he had so many other mornings; his back against the footboard, feet out straight, a stuffed animal on his lap. Today’s animal choice was a large dog of an unlikely shade of navy blue.
“When are we going?” Oliver wiggled his feet. “I’m not hungry. Can we skip breakfast?”
“No,” I said automatically. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” My brain, fuzzy with too little sleep, tried to remember what today’s big event might be. It was the store’s Halloween party, but that wasn’t until afternoon. I rubbed my eyes. Focusing was difficult because I’d stayed up late trying to figure out who’d sent that e-mail to Marina.
When we’d come home last night, I’d called Sara, my part-time helper, on her cell phone. “What’s up, Mrs. Kennedy?”
“Sorry to call so late, Sara.” Since it was past ten, I’d debated about calling at all.
“Late?” She laughed. “We’re getting ready to go to a party. Want to come?”
Ah, youth. I didn’t miss it. “Then I won’t keep you long. A while back, you said there are ways you can find out who sent an e-mail.”
“Sure. It’s really easy sometimes.” Sara’s minor had something to do with computers. More than once she’d tried to explain, but my eyes always got glassy somewhere in her second sentence.
“Great. Can you tell me how to do it?”
“Oh. Wow. Well . . .”
Clearly it wasn’t
“No, hang on a sec.” Her voice went far away. “Kayla, where’d my laptop go? No, it’s not on the couch. . . . There it is.” She came back. “Mrs. Kennedy? Hang on.” She tapped at the keyboard. “Got a pencil? Here’s a Web site that’ll walk you through the basic steps.” She told me the URL. “If you have troubles, bring the e-mail to the store and I’ll help you out, okay?”
I’d thanked her and hung up. I wanted to take the e-mail to Gus, but Marina had threatened her own unique brand of terror if I did any such thing. The best remaining choice was to try and figure out on my own who sent it. In the wee hours of the morning, I determined that the sender’s IP address was a string of meaningless numbers and that the sender had a computer name of dh4cln.
Well, yee-hah.
The victory was hollow at best, and I’d trudged up the stairs, trying to beat down the feeling that I’d failed Marina.
Now, Oliver was banging his feet against the mattress, jouncing my bladder a little past comfort. “All I want is cereal.” He held the stuffed animal at arm’s length and flew him left and right. “You’re going to get a brother, Big Nose!” He pulled the dog to his chest, hugging it tight.
Right. Today was Dog Day.
Jenna came into the room. Dressed in her favorite weekend jeans and a Door County sweatshirt, she was ready for action. “I can’t believe you’re not out of bed yet. We’ve been up for
I pulled the covers over my head and gave them the cue. “Can’t. I’m stuck.”
Jenna giggled. “I’ll help unstuck you.”
“Me, too!” Oliver shouted. The kids launched themselves at me. The next few minutes were a glorious riot of tussling and tugging and hugging and laughter and, even if they didn’t know it, an outpouring of love. For, oh, how I loved my children.
Three hours later, the love was wearing thin.
Hands on hips, I stood in the animal shelter’s dog wing, looking around at dozens of caged canines. “I can’t believe you two have rejected all of these dogs.”
“It’s not me.” Jenna stood with her hands on her own hips. “It’s him.” She pointed at the only full sibling she’d ever have. “Every dog I like, he hates.”
Oliver’s lower lip was pushed out as far as it could go. “Every dog I like,
“That’s because you only like dumb ones.”
“I do not.”
“Do, too!”
“Kids,” I warned. After one final round of do-not-do-too, they subsided. I looked at the ceiling, hoping to find divine guidance, but saw only white acoustical tile. In after-school specials this would have been a happy family outing.
“Since you two can’t agree,” I said, “I’ll pick the dog.”
The attendant smiled weakly. “That’s a wonderful idea.” She gestured at the plethora of doggy life. “We were fortunate enough to get a very generous donation from an anonymous donor a few years ago, and not only did we have the money to build this new facility, but now we have the staff for training.”
Anonymous donors were thick around here these days. Too bad one that supported children’s bookstores didn’t fall into my lap.
“All our dogs are housebroken and trained to a leash,” the attendant went on. “Every single one would make a wonderful pet.”
I tried not to look cynical. She was trying to sell something; of course all the dogs were wonderful. Every one would probably fetch my slippers, bring in a slobbery paper, and text me at the store about Timmy falling down a well.
The puppy Jenna and Oliver originally fell in love with had been a neighbor’s expensive purebred destined for special diets and expensive shampoos and show rings. When I’d broken the news that a dog like that wouldn’t be happy at our house, they’d stormed and raged but had eventually come around to the idea of bringing home a dog from the animal shelter.
“We’ll be saving it, right?” Jenna had said.
The shelter was no-kill, but in lots of ways she was correct.
“I want a puppy.” Oliver had been adamant. “I want a puppy, I want a puppy, I want—”
“Enough.” My voice was calm but firm, and my son’s chant had died away. “We’ll go to the animal shelter and see what’s available.”
“But I want a puppy!” Oliver’s lower lip had started to tremble.
“We’ll see what’s available,” I’d said. “Cheer up, kiddos. On Saturday we’ll go to the shelter. They’re bound to have a dog we’ll all love.”
And now it was Saturday. There wasn’t a single dog my kids could agree on, and I was not—repeat
“It’s not a puppy,” Jenna said.
“I don’t care.” Oliver took on the mulish look Jenna had sported of late. “He loves me.”
The tag on the door said BONNIE. I smiled at him. “You mean
Oliver jumped away. “He’s a girl?” His look of horror almost made me laugh out loud.
“What’s wrong with a girl?” Jenna asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Any more bickering,” I said, “and we’re going straight home. All these dogs would love to come with us. They all want kids to play with and a food bowl with their name on it. We just have to look for the one who fits into our family.”
“This one,” Jenna said.
