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“Practice your homework. I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit.”
I returned to the kennel, a little more relaxed about having a child unsupervised in my house. I took over the nail clipping from Suzie and sent her out into the field to poop scoop. It had to be done twice a day, both because the dogs went to the bathroom a lot, and because the more careless animals ran through piles of it when they were playing. Returning a dog that smelled like poop was bad for business.
When I was done clipping nails, I grabbed my dog brush. Three dogs were getting baths today, which required brushing beforehand. Before I could start, Suzie came up to me with a puzzled look on her face.
“I just went inside to pee.”
“That’s fine,” I told her without looking up from the poodle I was brushing. “You don’t need to tell me whenever you take a quick break. I trust you.”
“Yes, but… did you know there’s a little girl in your dining room?”
I chuckled. “Yeah. It’s a long story.”
“Is she…?”
“She’s not mine, no. And I didn’t expect to babysit her today. This is the only time this will happen.”
Suzie relaxed. “Ah, okay. She looks like she’s having a lot of fun.”
I hesitated. “Fun?”
“Yeah,” Suzie replied. “She’s playing dress up. You know, with all those boxes of clothes in there.”
I dropped my brush. “She’s playing with my grandma’s clothes?”
18
Beth
My dining room looked like a bomb had gone off, except with clothes instead of shrapnel. The cardboard boxes were empty in the corner, and all of my grandma’s clothes were scattered on the floor, the dining room table, and in the adjacent living room. Claire was wearing a fur coat that was longer than she was tall, high heels, a wide-brimmed sun hat, and a pair of Jackie Kennedy sunglasses. She was stomping up and down on the floor in a circle.
Seeing my late grandma’s belongings being used so carelessly filled me with sadness and anger.
“Claire! What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Dancing!” she replied, stomping around to some music that only she could hear.
I hurried over and took the fur coat off her. “These aren’t your things, Claire!” I said, barely containing my anger.
“I know. They’re your grandma’s.”
“Exactly!”
“But she’s dead.” Claire was suddenly angry, sticking her chin out at me stubbornly. “And dead means she’snevercoming back. So she doesn’t care if I play with them.”
Something in the way she explained it made me pause. “Claire, what’s wrong?”
She turned away from me. “Nothing.”
I crouched next to the girl and put a reassuring hand on her back. “You seem upset. Why?”
“Your grandma is dead. Just like my mommy.”
I gasped. “Your mommy is dead?”
Without meeting my eyes, Claire nodded.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry. How long has she been gone?”
