Casting About Page 8

  I felt Adam staring at me. Hey, don’t get me wrong—I love dogs. I still grieved for Lilly, my mother’s beautiful boxer, who we’d lost the previous year much too young to lymphoma. But I thought my hands were full enough at the moment without bringing a four-legged creature into our life.

  “I…uh…I don’t know…,” I mumbled. “What do you think, Adam?” I asked, tossing that proverbial ball right back into his court.

  “Well,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “We’ll have to discuss this, of course, but it might not be a bad idea.”

  Might not be a bad idea? Was he nuts? So in addition to all the other extra duties that I’d acquired, now I was supposed to do poop patrol as well?

  I’m not sure if it was the look on my face or my stumbling with words, but Adam seemed to catch on fast that having a puppy in the house wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted.

  “Puppies are a lot of work,” he told Clarissa.

  No shit, I thought.

  An animation seemed to come over her. She made her way along the carpet to kneel in front of Adam. Gazing up at him with a look that matched Shirley Temple, she nodded and said softly, “I know, and I’d take care of it.” As if to seal her words, she stroked her father’s hand. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said this was Clarissa Jo’s first attempt to use her feminine wiles.

  “Monica is busy enough, you know. It would have to be you who looked after the puppy, took him for a walk, taught him not to chew things. It’s a lot of work, Clarissa. Do you think you’re old enough for that?”

  She looked up at Adam, and I swear that child batted her eyelashes and said, “I would. Really I would.”

  “Well, a puppy might be good for you. Monica and I will discuss it some more and we’ll see, okay?”

  Why did I feel as if “we’ll see” meant “done deal”?

  After Clarissa went to bed, Adam and I sat out on the deck. Even though it was June, the high humidity hadn’t arrived in Cedar Key yet. We had a nice breeze off the ocean and I inhaled the scent of salt air.

  “Monica, if you really don’t want a puppy, we won’t get one.”

  Sure, make me out to be the bad guy.

  He reached over to touch my hand. “It’s just that Clarissa hasn’t made many friends here. She was only in school a month before classes ended for this year. I think she’s lonely.”

  He was probably right. And maybe she would be responsible. After that first fiasco with her bedroom, when Adam had spoken to her she had improved with keeping it picked up.

  I felt like I was being backed into a corner and let out a deep sigh.

  “I hate to be the one to say no, Adam. But gosh…a puppy? I don’t know….”

  “I don’t want to pressure you into this, but she’s turning nine in September. It might be a nice early birthday present.”

  “Hmm,” I offered reluctantly. I turned to look at my husband’s face and felt like a rat. Maybe he did know better than I did what would be good for his daughter. I guess if it was a small dog….

  “What kind of dog did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. We both love Winston, Ali’s Scottie. What do you think would be good?”

  He was right. I adored Winston. He was friendly, bright, and a true gentleman.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly, giving it some thought. “Scottish terriers are a great breed. Miss Polly has a cockapoo that’s really sweet too. So I do think it should be a small dog so that Clarissa can handle it easily.”

  “I agree. Why don’t you speak to Alison and Miss Polly. See if they know of any breeders and we’ll take it from there.”

  I saw the loving smile on his face and knew immediately that the “we’ll see” had definitely morphed into “done deal.”

  Miss Polly put us in touch with a cockapoo breeder in Ocala. I sat beside Adam as we drove along U.S. 27 and admired the gorgeous rolling hills of horse farms that I saw out the window.

  I heard humming from the backseat and craned my neck around to see Clarissa holding her Raggedy Ann doll. The humming now broke out into a child’s song. She was actually singing. I had to admit, since we’d told her she could get a puppy, Clarissa had seemed to border on happy.

  “Are we almost there?” she asked, leaning forward as much as her seat belt would allow.

  “Not much longer,” Adam told her.

  I let my mind trail off and recalled the incident that had occurred just before we’d left the house. I’d been brushing my hair in the bedroom when something shiny caught my eye on the bureau. I glanced down to see a butterfly brooch. Sybile had given it to me and I always kept it deep inside my jewelry box. Picking it up in my hand, I couldn’t figure out why on earth it was on top of the bureau. I hadn’t worn it in months.

  When I questioned Adam, he had no idea how it had gotten out of my jewelry box. I replaced it, but thought of my blue sweater that had ended up in Clarissa’s room. And added to that was when Clarissa told me the lady had told her about taking a boat to Atsena Otie. When I had questioned her later about who this lady was, she’d just shrugged and had given me no answer.

  “Here we are,” I heard Adam say, breaking into my thoughts.

  A large and well-maintained farmhouse sat at the end of a long driveway.

  Adam pulled up in front and had barely cut the ignition before Clarissa had unfastened her seat belt and flung open her door.

  I looked at Adam and laughed. “Think she’s excited?”

  A middle-aged woman opened the front door and greeted us from the wraparound porch.

  “You must be the Brooks family,” she said.

  Adam and I walked toward her with Clarissa leading the way.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he told the woman. “This is my wife, Monica, and my daughter, Clarissa Jo.”

  “Ah, and you’re the one that will be choosing a puppy,” she said, sending a warm smile to Clarissa.

  “Yes, and I’m so excited.”

  The woman laughed. “Then follow me out back. That’s where the kennel is.”

  A white clapboard building stood in back of the house. When she opened the door a buff-colored cocker spaniel greeted us.

  “This here is Sally. She’s the mama dog.”

  Clarissa put her hand out for the dog to sniff and then bent down to stroke the cream fur.

  “And over here, these are Sally’s babies.”

  We walked over to see four balls of fur tumbling and playing.

  “They’re eight weeks old?” I asked.

  “Yup, they were born April nineteenth.”

  Clarissa shot a look in my direction, and I wondered if she realized that was the date she’d come to live with Adam and me.

  “They sure are cute,” Adam said, bending down to pat them.

  Clarissa sat on the cement floor and let all four puppies crawl over her. Their wet tongues kissing her face brought forth giggles. This was such a foreign sound coming from her that I smiled and wondered if perhaps Adam had been right after all.

  After a few minutes, she said, “This one. This is the one I want.”

  She had chosen a buff and white puppy that strongly resembled a lamb.

  “And I’m going to name it Billie.”

  I felt a shiver go through me. Billie? That was my pet nickname for Sybile. There’s no way this child could have known that.

  “Well, now,” I heard Adam say. “It might not be a boy dog.”

  The woman laughed. “No, I’m afraid that’s a girl puppy,” she said.

  Clarissa stood up, cuddling the small ball of fur. “That’s okay. This is the one I want. Yes,” she said with determination. “If you spell the name with a y, then it’s a boy’s name. But Billie can be a girl’s name too.”

  “You’re very right,” Adam told her. “So are you sure this is the pup you want?”

  One look at the child and the puppy and anybody could tell it was. The dog had nestled its small head under Clarissa’s chin and the look on Clarissa�
�s face was one of pure bliss.

  I was still shaken by her choice of a name for the dog and could only stand there mute while Adam produced the checkbook and paid the purchase price.

  The woman went on to tell us about food and assorted other things, much of which I didn’t hear.

  After thanking her, with promises that we’d let her know how the puppy was doing, we headed back to Cedar Key.

  Clarissa sat in the backseat, cooing and speaking softly to her new friend—while I pondered things I had no understanding of.

  13

  “She named it what?” my mother said on the phone the next morning. Despite her being across the ocean in Paris, I knew it wasn’t a bad phone line that caused her question.

  “You heard me correctly—Billie,” I told her as I watched Clarissa through the kitchen window romping with the puppy in the backyard.

  “Interesting,” was my mother’s reply.

  “I’d say it’s a bit more than interesting.” When there was silence, I said, “I just don’t understand it. There’s no way she could have known that’s what I called Sybile. Do you think it’s just a coincidence?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. I suppose it could be, but it does seem like an odd choice of name for a puppy.”

  “Now I’m wondering what Dora and Saren will think of the name.”

  “I’m not sure about them, but I do have to say, I think Sybile would’ve had a good chuckle. She loved it when you came up with that name for her.”

  I smiled. She was right. Sybile had made it clear I wasn’t to call her Grandma.

  “So how’d the puppy settle in last night?”

  “Actually, she did quite well. I thought I heard her whimpering once, so I got up to check and I could hear Clarissa in her room talking softly to her.”

  I’d also noticed that for the past few weeks I no longer heard Clarissa crying during the night.

  “Well, I’m glad you got her, Monica. I still miss Lilly so much. It’ll be nice to have a dog in the family again.”

  “Yeah, Saren’s all excited too. Since Precious died, I know he’s missed not having a dog. He’s coming over later this morning to meet…Billie.”

  After catching up on other news, I hung up the phone and stood staring out the window. Clarissa had put on the pink harness and attached the pink leash to the puppy and was having a ball running back and forth with her. I smiled. Maybe things were going to work out after all. True, I still hadn’t developed any maternal love for Clarissa Jo—but at least we seemed to be tolerating each other.

  Within a month, Billie had settled in fairly well. Oh, there was still the occasional piddle on the floor, but for the most part Clarissa had done well getting the puppy on a schedule. We’d been advised to crate-train Billie, and at least I didn’t have to worry about the pup tearing the house apart when we were out.

  I was finishing up some accounting when Dora walked into the yarn shop.

  “Gosh, is it two already?” I asked, glancing at my watch.

  “Just about,” she said, placing her handbag in the desk drawer. “Are you picking up Clarissa at the Arts Center?”

  “Yeah, she really seems to enjoy the classes. Her sketchbook is filling up.”

  “That’s good. Has she made any friends yet?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m afraid not. She’s been spending more and more time with Miss Tilly. She takes Billie over there and I hear them laughing.”

  “Well, you know, that’s sure good for Tilly. She showed up at the Garden Club meeting last week. Nobody could believe it. She hasn’t ventured out in ages. I think Clarissa is good for her.”

  Hmm, I wasn’t aware of this.

  “Once Tilly stopped teaching, it was like all the years since she lost Carl and Carl Junior caught up with her. She’s been in a terrible depression. Everybody’s been worried about her and we’ve tried everything to get her out. She told us that she’s going to rejoin the Women’s Club too. It’s amazing.”

  It certainly was. You mean to tell me that one little girl can have that much impact on an elderly woman?

  I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. “You take care, Dora. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  I was surprised to see Clarissa standing in front of the Arts Center with another little girl.

  “This is my new friend, Zoe,” she explained.

  “Hi, Zoe,” I said, smiling at the blond, curly-haired little girl.

  “Can Zoe come home with us and meet Billie?” Clarissa asked.

  This was something new for me.

  “You can come, but you’ll have to let your mother know.”

  “My mom is sick. I can call Claire from your house. She takes care of me.”

  When we arrived home, Zoe made the call. I remembered bringing home my own girlfriends and automatically opened the fridge to put together a snack for the girls.

  Clarissa had run to release Billie from the crate to take her outside.

  I put a bag of popcorn into the microwave and was pouring Pepsi into glasses when Zoe came back into the kitchen.

  “Clarissa’s out back with the puppy. Is your mom okay?” I asked her.

  “Oh, she’s not going to get better,” the child said matter-of-factly. “She has cancer.”

  I stopped pouring to stare at Zoe. Did this mean the little girl’s mother was dying? I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry about that,” was all I offered as she walked out the door. Gosh, that was a terrible burden for an eight-year-old. To know she was going to lose her mother. I wondered if Clarissa knew this and what she thought.

  That night over dinner, I brought up the subject.

  “It sounds like Zoe’s mother is pretty sick,” I said, watching for Clarissa’s reaction.

  Her face remained void of expression.

  “Yeah, that’s what she said.”

  “Her mother is Sandy Collins, isn’t she? I’d heard she’d been ill,” Adam told us.

  “She was in the hospital,” Clarissa said. “But she’s back home now. Zoe doesn’t have a daddy to help out, so Claire takes care of her.”

  Adam and I exchanged a glance and I thought it best to change the subject.

  “Tell your dad about the art project you’re working on.”

  Clarissa brightened and explained to Adam that she was going to be entering an art contest and that Miss Tilly offered to tutor her.

  “That’s great. We just might have a budding artist in the family.”

  Following supper, I was in the family room knitting a Christmas stocking. Dora and I had decided to get a head start and begin working on what we hoped would be customer requests.

  “Are you yarning?” I heard Clarissa ask.

  I laughed and looked up as she walked over to sit beside me on the sofa. “Am I what?”

  “You know,” she said, pointing to the stocking taking shape on my needles. “What you’re doing there.”

  Obviously, she wasn’t joking by using that term. “Where did you hear what I’m doing called yarning?”

  Clarissa remained silent for a moment as if considering whether she’d said the wrong thing. “I didn’t hear it. Isn’t that yarn on those sticks?”

  When I nodded confirmation, she said, “Well, then isn’t what you’re doing yarning? Like when you jump, it’s jumping? Or you walk and it’s walking?”

  I was becoming more intrigued with the way a child’s mind worked, especially when it came to using words, and I had to admit—she certainly had a point.

  Letting out a deep breath, I smiled and wondered about the best way to explain the terminology of knitting to her. “Well, technically, you’re right. This is yarn and therefore, I suppose the action of turning it into something handmade could be called yarning. But it’s always been called knitting.”

  “Oh,” was all Clarissa said, but a moment later she questioned, “Why?”

  Hmm, good question. “Well,” I explained. “There are actually a few definitions of the word knit, one of which mean
s becoming closely and firmly united, to grow together. So with the craft of knitting you can form a scarf or sweater or this stocking by interlocking loops of a single yarn by using needles. These aren’t sticks. In knitting we call them needles.”

  Clarissa took a moment to think about what I’d just told her and then said, “Oh, I guess that makes sense. But I think I like the word yarning better.”

  I laughed and looked over to see Adam suppressing a chuckle.

  After Clarissa had gone to bed, I found myself thinking about her friend again.

  “Do you think Clarissa understands that Zoe’s mother could die?” I asked Adam.

  “I’m not sure. We haven’t had any discussion about death, and Clarissa hasn’t lost anybody close to her.”

  “It just seems unfair. That’s such an adult subject—death. And yet Zoe might be faced with experiencing it. If Clarissa had questions, do you think she’d ask you?”

  “Well, she’s opening up more than when she first came here. I forgot to tell you, the other day she asked me if I thought Carrie Sue would be calling again or coming to visit her.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. “Really? Did she act like she wanted this to happen?”

  “I got the impression she didn’t. I felt that Clarissa hoped we wouldn’t hear from her again. She asked me if Carrie Sue went back to court, would she have to go and live with her again, and I explained that we had full custody. But she might have to spend some time with her mother if Carrie Sue wanted visitation rights. She didn’t say she didn’t want to see her—but she made me feel this was something she hoped wouldn’t happen.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “I’m surprised about that. I guess I’ve felt from the beginning that Clarissa didn’t really want to even come here. That maybe she’d have preferred staying with her mother. You know, loyalty and all that. She never mentions her name though.”

  “All any child wants is love, Monica. I’ve always thought that Carrie Sue was much too self-centered to lavish any love on Clarissa. I’m more convinced than ever that the only reason Carrie Sue fought me for custody was to get back at me. Revenge for not putting up with her behavior.”