Be the Girl

I think my mother is having a midlife crisis. That, or she has lost her identity without her job and has decided to assume Martha Stewart’s.

No sooner had Mick finished putting the last pipe in place than she was asking how long it would take to renovate the bathroom upstairs. When I came home from school today, I found them sitting on the porch with tea and a plate of cookies, planning how to replace the steps and what front door would look best. And now that the old appliances have been swapped out for shiny new ones, she’s talking about installing new cupboards. Or at least painting them. She can’t chill.

Plus, she bakes every day. EVERY DAY, Julia. I know … first-world problems.

I can’t help but wonder how Uncle Merv really is with all this. He grumbles about the noise but then tells her to do whatever she wants because he can’t take the damn house to his grave. He loves talking about his grave. It’s morbid. Is that what happens when people get old? Is that all they do? Talk about dying? He doesn’t go anywhere. Mom finally got it out of him that they suspended his license because he ran down five pylons in a construction zone. He’s lucky that’s all he ran down. Iris is the only one who visits every so often. If she was trying to woo him, I think she has given up.

I came home from school today to find him sitting in his chair with his headphones on, listening to an audiobook, and staring up at that wedding picture Mom had framed (she found a hammer: Mick’s).

I think he really misses Aunt Connie.

~AJ





The wind is brisk as we lead Murphy and Roger Dodger in through the back door of the animal shelter, their tongues lolling and their tails wagging. Despite his hip impediment, Murphy managed to keep up with the little Lhasa Apso during our trek across the farm field behind the shelter property.

“Did you remember to pick up after him, Cassie?” Pat calls out from the front desk.

“Yes!”

I give her a flat look.

She grins. “AJ did it for both of us.”

And I think I’ve been manipulated. Last week, she struggled with holding the bouncy dog still while she bent down to collect, so I did it for her. This week, she didn’t even bother trying. She simply smiled, handed me a bag, and asked, “Oh, could you help me again? I’m having trouble.”

“Teach a girl to fish, Cassie …” Pat scolds softly.

“Yeah, I know.” She laughs, bending down to pat Roger’s head. “But I don’t like dog poop.”

“Neither do I.” I lead Murphy to his kennel. But when I open the door, he backs away, lifting his nose to graze my hand, leaving a wet trail across my palm. “I’m sorry, Murph.”

Gloomy brown eyes peer up at me.

“I know. It’s not fair. But you’ve gotta go. Come on.”

He bows his head and ambles in, easing himself down to settle his chin on the piece of ragged remnant carpet that lines the bottom.

And my heart aches, looking down at him. He’s going to lie there until he’s taken for his next walk, whenever that is. Sit here, in this drab room. His home, until he dies.

Is he counting down his days like Uncle Merv?

“Aww. He looks so sad.” Cassie’s brow furrows deeply as she studies him. As much as she misses human emotional cues, she seems acutely in tune when it comes to animals.

“He does, doesn’t he?” An idea strikes me. “Hey, Pat?”

Pat pokes her head around the corner.

“Are dogs allowed out of the shelter for the night?”





“I wish I could bring Roger Dodger home,” Cassie pouts as Heather pulls into their driveway. Emmett’s SUV is gone. So is my mom’s, I note. She must still be out grocery shopping.

“Well, we can, but we’d have to get rid of your father.” Heather smiles at her daughter. “Should we do that?”

“Yeah.” Cassie grins. “Let’s get rid of him and bring Roger Dodger home.”

Heather chuckles. “You know, I’m not sure you’re joking.” Her wary blue-gray eyes peer through the rearview mirror at the big old Labrador in her back seat. It took both Cassie and I to help him in. “Are you sure Merv and your mom are going to be okay with this?”

I shrug. “You know Merv.”

Those eyes in the mirror shift to me. “Exactly. I know Merv.”

“I already suggested it to him, and he didn’t say no.” Both are true facts. “And it’s only for the night.” For now. I’m crossing my fingers that Uncle Merv will like having Murphy around. I can’t believe Pat went along with the idea in the first place, but I think she feels as sorry for the poor old dog as I do. I guess it’s not the worst thing if I have to take him back tomorrow.

“I’m pleading ignorance.” Heather sighs. “It is a nice thing you’re doing for him, though.”

“Maybe you can remind my mother of that in case she brings this up.”

Cassie giggles as she climbs out and opens the back door. “Come on, Murph!”

“We might have to help—oh, maybe not.” I watch as he carefully picks his way down, first to the floor of the back seat, before hopping out of the car. His nose lifts in the air to inhale the crisp scent.

I collect his leash, though I don’t bother to put it on. He’s not going to run.

“Can I come with you?” Cassie asks.

“That’s a good idea. You can be a witness if Uncle Merv kills me.”

She bursts out laughing. “You’re joking. Mom! I’m going next door!”

Heather smiles after her. “For a minute. You’re helping me with dinner tonight. Send her home in five, Aria.”

Murphy hobbles along beside me as we cross the front lawns, his nose to the grass, his tail wagging. He slows by Uncle Merv’s prized rose bush, sniffing around its base.

And then he lifts his leg.

“No!” I whisper-cry, checking the bay window off the living room to make sure Uncle Merv’s not watching, wishing now that I had put on his leash. Not that I’d be able to drag the seventy-pound dog away without hurting him.

Meanwhile, Cassie laughs hysterically.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell Uncle Merv,” I warn her with wide eyes. “He’ll get mad.”

Her face goes slack, the humor gone in an instant. “At me?”

“No! At Murphy.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nods solemnly.

“Not a smart move if you want to stay, Murph.” I climb the porch steps. He limps up behind me.

Cassie opens the front door as if she lives there, gesturing for Murphy to follow her. “Hello, Uncle Merv!” she bellows. “Guess who came to visit you?”

“Eh? What’s that?” comes the gruff response from the living room.

I hold my breath.

“What the hell is that?”

Cassie laughs. “This is Murphy. Say hi, Murphy.”

I dare poke my head around the corner to see Uncle Merv frowning at Murphy as he ambles around, sniffing everything. “So, remember that dog I was telling you about?”

“I remember you telling me about him,” he grumbles. “I don’t remember telling you to bring him home with you.”

“It’s just for the night. Murphy’s been in that shelter for over six months, and he looked so sad going into that tiny little cage in the horrible dark, lonely room.” I lay it on thick as I reach down to scratch the dog’s graying head. “I thought he’d like a change of scenery and you might like the company. He’s easy and quiet, and don’t worry, I’ll walk him later tonight, and tomorrow morning.”

Uncle Merv grunts. “Does Debra know about this?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise?”

I get a bark of laughter in return. “It’ll be a surprise all right,” he mutters, watching Murphy mosey up to his armchair and sniff his pant legs.

“So … I’ll be upstairs doing my homework if you need me. Cassie, you need to go home.”

“Bye, Murphy!” Cassie waves to the dog, waits a few beats as if expecting him to respond, and then trudges off across the front lawns.

I take my time climbing the steps, bending to steal a glance between the railings. Murphy has settled onto his haunches beside the chair.

“You’re an old guy, aren’t ya?” Uncle Merv finally reaches over and scratches Murphy’s head. “Old like me …”