Then I stand up and wait because I don’t know what else to do.
So Maura says, “Wendy had a nice long beverage before I put her down. She’s probably ready for some solids. Do you think you could help me by taking out the rice cereal?”
I do not say Hmm or Let me think about it. Instead I lean forward. “Do you think it would make her approximately happy if we put some human milk in it?”
Maura leans forward too. “I think it would make her exactly happy if you put some human milk in it. We’ll have to warm it up first, though.”
I look down at the floor again. The bunny is still there. I pick it up and give it a hug and then give it to Wendy. We all go downstairs.
In the kitchen I take out the rice cereal. I put it on the counter. With one hand Maura pulls a chair out from the kitchen table. She points at it so I sit. She lets out a loud breath. Her smile is crooked. “All right,” she says. “I don’t know any other way to work myself up to this. Ginny, could you please hold Wendy while I get the cereal ready?”
I am so shocked that I can’t answer with my mouth. I nod my head yes. I put my arms out and cross my left leg over my right.
Maura stands close and puts the baby in my arms. My sister. Wendy’s head rests in my left elbow. I start to breathe slower. Nice and gentle, Nice and gentle. I am holding Wendy and Wendy is holding her bunny. The bunny isn’t holding anything, not even a carrot. But when I look up again Maura is holding the dish towel. The one with the green lines along the edges.
The one I was going to use to set the kitchen on fire.
“Mrs. Taylor says her dog is going to have puppies,” says Maura.
I look behind her at the stove. The burner is cold and dark.
“Brian—I mean your dad—was thinking of maybe getting a dog this summer when school gets out. He thinks it might be good for you. For all of us. Does that sound like a good idea?”
I think. In my brain I see Gloria’s apartment with the two sets of cages against the wall but the cages are all open and all the Maine coon cats are gone. I look around to see where they went.
Somewhere far behind me a door opens. Tiny feet scamper away.
“Ginny?”
I look up. “Dogs like to play Frisbee,” I say.
“Yes, I suppose they do,” says Maura.
“They like to go in the car with you when you go to the lake.”
“Right.”
“They like to run through the leaves when everyone is outside raking. They like it when you throw snowballs for them.”
“Right again,” says Maura.
“They do not like to be by themselves.”
Maura swallows. “No, they don’t. You’re right, Ginny. You’re right about all those things. I promise that I’ll do my best to let you be more involved. But you have to try, too. I know it’s a struggle, but please try to be less...inward. I know that that’s part of who you are, but...you’ll try, won’t you?” She wipes her eyes and looks away and when she looks back I see that they’re wet. “So what do you think? Is it a good idea for us to get a dog?” She closes her eyes and looks sideways and smiles. And puts her finger up. “No, wait—just the second question.”
“Yes,” I say. “I think that getting a dog would be a very, very good idea.”
Maura puts the towel over her shoulder and measures some rice cereal into the bottom of a baby bottle. She pours a tiny bit of human milk into it and stirs. Then she puts the bottle in a pan of water and the pan of water on the stove.
I pull Wendy closer and look over at my watch. The time is 5:08. The date is still Thursday, January 27th. From now on I’m going to spend a lot more time trying to help out a little more with Wendy. Because even though I come from a different place and my head is different I still have my first name and my eyes are still green. I don’t have to be (-Ginny) if this Forever Family wants me around. I don’t have to be (-Ginny) if they let me do things and help take excellent care of my little sister. My new secret plan didn’t work but mostly that’s okay because in the Aftermath things never add up the way you expect. Plus two wrongs don’t make a right and what I was doing with the dish towel would have made me be (-Ginny) forever. So I’ll stay here at the Blue House until the cows come home which is mostly safer than looking for giant equal signs or waiting for the police.
Which means, I’m guessing, that I’m finally staying put.
*
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A lifelong teacher of English and writing, Benjamin Ludwig lives in New Hampshire with his family. He holds an MAT in English Education and an MFA in Writing. Shortly after he and his wife married, they became foster parents and adopted a teenager with autism. Ginny Moon is his first novel, which was inspired in part by his conversations with other parents at Special Olympics basketball practices. His website is available at www.benjaminludwig.com.