Grown-ups who are afraid of dirt usually don’t belong here.
“What kind of husband do you think your mother needs?” he asks.
I look him over.
His shoes are shiny, but there’s dust on them now from walking around the sanctuary. His jacket is fancy, but he didn’t act mad when Sabrina got snow cone syrup on his sleeve. And when Mr. Skip wanted to pet Bobcat Billie, Mr. Moretti didn’t yell. He just said something quiet, and Mr. Skip walked away.
That seems useful.
“She needs someone strong,” I say. “But not mean strong. Safe strong.”
He nods slowly.
“And someone who likes animals.”
“I do like animals.”
“You didn’t pet the goat.”
“The goat tried to eat my cuff link.”
“That means he likes you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And you have to be able to pick Mama up if she’s being stubborn.”
His mouth twitches again. “Does she need picked up often?”
“Yes. She’s always stubborn.”
“I see.”
“She also needs someone who won’t leave when things get hard.” My fingers tighten around my clipboard. “My first daddy did that. He said the sanctuary was too much work, and Mama was always tired, and I cried too much when I was little.”
Mr. Moretti’s face changes.
His smile is gone, and he looks angry.
“What is your father’s name?”
“Mama says I’m not supposed to give personal information to strangers.”
His eyes soften. “That’s very wise.”
“But I can tell you he’s not invited here.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I imagine he’s not.”
“And if you’re gonna be Mama’s husband, you can’t leave like he did.”
“I understand.”
“You also have to be nice to her.”
“I would be.”
“And not just because she’s pretty.”
