by Bobbie Pyron
Baby sees she holds two leashes in her hand.
The woman hands one leash to the girl.
The woman’s hand smells like love and
peanut butter.
Baby watches with boundless curiosity
and hope
as the woman opens the door to
the kennel next door and clips a leash on the old dog
whose eyes are filled with small bits of hope.
Together
they leave the inside
for the outside
Girl
Baby
Woman
Dog Next Door
and turn their faces up
to the bright sun.
55
Apprehension
Every day, money is trickling in. Daddy’s brought home money from work the last two days, and every night Rick gives me money collected at the Sixth Street Community Kitchen.
And when we come back from supper, Ree and Ajax are always waiting on the corner with more she’s collected from her family of sign flyers—that’s what Daddy calls them. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at them the same,” he says. I won’t either.
But there’s no two ways around it: time’s getting short. Very short.
When I got home from school yesterday, Byron had a package for me: Baby’s emotional support vest. Byron ordered it on his credit card since we don’t have one.
I opened up the box and held the vest up for Byron to see.
“It looks very official,” Byron said, admiring the red and black colors, and fingering the buckles. “Well made too. He’ll be able to wear this for a long time.”
“I hope so,” I said. Time’s not just running out for Jewel, it’s running out for Baby too. Tamara at the Humane Society said more and more people have filled out applications to adopt Baby. “He won’t have any trouble finding a great home if things don’t work out,” she said.
“But you said you’d keep him until Jewel gets out of the hospital.”
“We can keep him a few days longer,” Tamara had said, “but that’s it. There are other dogs needing his kennel space, Piper.”
I feel sick remembering all this as I climb onto the school bus.
“Hey, Piper!” Jerome waves from the back, where he sits with Noah. They’re both grinning.
“What’s up?” I ask, plopping down on the seat in front of them.
“This!” Jerome hands me an envelope filled with money and two brownie order forms.
My jaw drops. “That looks like a lot of money.” I gasp.
“My track team loves Firefly Gourmet Brownies, especially Coach Sloan,” he explains. “Can’t get enough of those Mocha Mint and Choco-Lots.”
Noah hands me another envelope. “It’s not as much,” he says shyly, “but every little bit counts.”
“It surely does,” I say. I hold both envelopes to my heart. “Y’all are the best.”
Walking down the hall to my class, I notice more kids are smiling at me. One boy even calls me Brownie Girl. Is it the magic power of brownies and story, or am I finally seeing the whole doughnut?
All day at school, kids and teachers turned in money and order forms to Vice Principal Meeks. As soon as the end-of-school bell buzzed, Karina and I raced down to the office to pick them up.
“Hope you brought a wheelbarrow,” Mr. Meeks says with a grin.
“No kidding,” Karina says, staring at the box full of cash and forms.
Me, I can’t say a word. It seems too good to be true.
Usually, me, Daria, Karina, and Fire walk home from school, but today, we ride the bus. No dawdling today: we’ve got money to count.
I’m still tongue-tied with excitement and worry when we get to Karina’s family’s room.
We hold our breath as Mrs. Bailey opens the box.
“My goodness,” she says. She pushes the box toward us. “Well, girls, get counting.”
“It’s got to be a million dollars at least,” Fire says.
“Actually, it’s got to be at least one hundred and seventy-four dollars,” Karina reminds us.
Fire and I separate the bills into stacks of ones, fives, tens, and twenties. I can’t believe how many twenties there are.
Then Fire and I count it out.
“Holy cow,” Fire says.
Daria counts it again, then writes the total on a piece of paper: $246.
I nearly jump all the way up to the ceiling. “We did it! We did it and then some!”
“Piper, honey, don’t forget we only get to keep forty percent of that,” Mrs. B says.
Daria groans.
Karina does the math. “We get to keep ninety-eight dollars.”
My heart crashes to the floor.
But then I remember: there’s the money Mama’s collected from Ree and Rick at the Sixth Street Community Kitchen and the rest of the brownie money.
I call Mama. It only takes two blinks of an eye for her and Dylan to come down with the other money.
Before Mrs. B starts counting again, I say, “Wait.” I take my Band-Aid box out of my pack and pull out my allowance. “Add this in too.”
It seems like it takes Mrs. B forever and ever to do a final count. I feel apprehension—a new word we learned today—growing inside me. Will it be enough? And if it’s not, what do we do?
I almost bust with that apprehension when she recounts the money two more times!
“Oh, come on,” Fire moans.
Finally, Mrs. Bailey writes something on a piece of paper. She shows it to Mama and sighs.
“Well, girls,” Mrs. B says, shaking her head. “You sure did give it your best, especially you, Piper.”
My heart drops to the absolute, most putrid basement of disappointment. Tears prick my eyes.
And then a huge grin splits her face. “And it sure did pay off: you ladies raised five hundred eighty-six dollars and seventy-nine cents!”
We all look at each other, not believing what we just heard.
“Wait,” I say, “how much of that do we get to keep for Jewel and Baby?”
Mrs. B gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You get to keep all of it, Piper.”
Quick, I do the math in my head.
“And,” I whisper in case it isn’t true, “we have one hundred and twenty-six dollars over what we need?”
Mama grins. “And seventy-nine cents.”
Fire digs into the pocket of her jeans. She drops a penny into the pile of change. “Make that eighty cents.”
“We did it, Piper!” Daria says, hugging me.
And then we hug, all of us together—me, Mama, Karina, Fire, Daria, and Mrs. B—laughing and crying good tears.
Finally, we untangle. Karina glances at the clock.
Her mother nods. “We’ve got phone calls to make, and quick.”
56
His Jewel
Baby hears the door open.
He sits up.
It is not the usual time to eat.
It is not the usual time to go outside.
Dogs bark and bellow their greetings
of hope.
Footsteps hurry toward him.
He looks to the empty space next door.
But she is no longer there.
She and the little brown bunny
went to a new home,
a forever home,
where they will love her
silver face and soothe
her aching bones.
Then Baby smells an almost
most wonderful smell:
the girl!
She has come back!
Baby jumps against her legs
and yips his happiness.
She scoops him up,
kisses the top of his head,
and carries him out
into the sunlit lobby.
The room is filled with faces
all smiling
(except that cat)
at him.
The man named Brandon.
The w
oman named Tamara.
The man whose gentle hands
feed him, take him out
into the sunlight.
The woman who smells like the girl
he has come to love.
Still,
Baby searches for the face,
the particular smell of the one
who holds his heart with hers
but he does not find her there.
His ears droop.
His bit of a tail sags
with disappointment.
The girl sets him down on the floor.
“Look, Baby,” she says.
“Look what I have for you.”
Gently she wraps a red and black vest
across Baby’s back and chest
and under his belly.
He hears the click click of buckles.
It smells different from the fleece coat
Jewel wraps him in when he’s cold.
This coat sits on Baby’s shoulders
in a way Baby has never felt before.
Important.
Everyone in the sunlit room claps and smiles.
Baby can feel how happy they are and
he thinks he should be happy too.
But none of these faces is the one
his soul needs.
None are his Jewel.
The girl clips a leash onto his vest
and says his two favorite words.
“Let’s go!”
But for the first time ever, Baby hesitates.
For the first time he asks, “Where?”
57
Serendipity
I’m sitting in the back seat of our car on the way to Mercy Memorial Hospital with Baby on my lap.
Even through the official emotional support animal vest he’s wearing, I can feel his big, little heart beating against my palm. I love the weight of him on my legs, and his salty smell, the feel of his breath on my hand as he looks, panting, out the window.
I run a hand along his back. His little tail wags. How can my heart be so happy and so sad all at the same time?
“What do you think is in here?” Dylan asks.
He’s been itching to unzip the duffel bag the folks at the Humane Society gave Baby as a going-away present.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Let’s take a look.”
I unzip the bag—a lot smaller than the one of Jewel’s that Baby stayed with in the park all that time—and look inside. A water bowl, bottled water, treats, a blanket, a brush, his medical records, and papers showing he’s an official emotional support animal.
“Boring,” Dylan decides.
“Yes, but things he’ll need for the trip to Idaho,” Mama says from the front seat.
His little bunny toy isn’t in here though. I look all through the bag but can’t find it. “Dang,” I say.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks.
“Baby’s stuffed bunny isn’t in here.”
Dylan frowns. “Does he love his bunny the way I love Ted the Shark?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He kind of does.”
Daddy smiles, looking at us in the rearview mirror. “I doubt he’ll even remember, once he sees Jewel.”
Daddy swings the car into the parking lot at Mercy Memorial and parks the car.
“Maybe you should wait here with Baby,” he says to me.
“He’s probably allowed in, though,” I say, “now that he’s her emotional support dog.” At least I hope so.
We walk into the lobby, Baby leading the way.
Mama says to the lady at the front desk, “We’re here to pick up Jewel Knight. She’s being discharged today.”
The lady frowns over her glasses at Baby. “It,” she says through her nose, “is not allowed.”
Before I can say anything, Daddy says in his low, soft voice, “Beg your pardon, ma’am, but he is.” He picks Baby up. “He’s an official support animal, like the vest says.” When Daddy uses that voice, you don’t argue.
The nurse looks from Baby to Daddy. “The patient is being discharged today?”
Daddy nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
She waves her hand, shooing us away. “Go on up,” she says, “but don’t linger.”
When we get up to the floor where Jewel is, Baby knows exactly where he is. He pulls on the leash and whimpers. His little tail wiggles like crazy. I can’t believe it, but he heads straight for Jewel’s room!
Daddy pushes open the door. Jewel is sitting on the hospital bed, her back to us, talking with her case worker.
Ms. Madison’s face lights up. “Well, look who’s here!”
Baby throws back his little head and lets out the biggest bark.
Jewel turns around and gasps. Her face lights up like Christmas, Fourth of July, and a birthday cake with a thousand candles, all rolled together. “Baby!” she cries.
Baby pulls the leash from my hand and, in two giant leaps I would never have thought that little dog could manage, he’s on the bed and in Jewel’s arms. His furry front paws wrap around Jewel’s neck; his tongue licks and licks the tears streaming down Jewel’s cheeks.
“He’s just like a little person,” Mama says with wonder.
I look over at Daddy, who’s busying himself with the wheelchair. I don’t know that anybody else sees it, but I do. I see a tear slide down his cheek.
The Country-Wide bus station is surprisingly busy for it being the middle of the day. All kinds of people are coming and going. I was so scared and angry and confused when my family came through here, but this time I’m happy to be back.
Jewel stands in between Mama and Ree, clutching her bus ticket in one hand and Baby in the other. Ree promised that no matter what, she’d be here. One thing I’ve learned about Ree through all this is she’s someone you can count on. Even if she does have tattoos, dreadlocks, and a ring in her eyebrow.
A voice announces over the loudspeaker the bus to Boise is leaving in two minutes.
Daddy touches Jewel’s arm. “Let me take these over to the bus for you, Miss Knight.” He picks up her black suitcase and duffel bag.
Jewel turns to Ree and hugs her long and hard. They look into each other’s eyes—sparkling blue into coal black. They don’t say anything, but you can tell they’re saying all they need to about what they’ve seen and what they know.
Jewel takes Mama’s hand and squeezes it. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for all your many kindnesses.”
Before Mama can answer, Jewel turns to me and touches my face. “And you, dear Piper,” she says, “are purely a wonder.”
“It wasn’t just me, though,” I say. “I couldn’t have done it without my friends.”
Jewel smooths her hand over my hair. “Yes, but you, you saw. Not just with your eyes, but with your heart.”
I reach into my coat pocket and hand Jewel a small white photograph.
“I forgot I had this,” I say. It’s the one of her and Sis, arms slung around each other, kicking up their heels.
She looks at it and smiles. Then she lets out a big laugh. “Oh, I remember this! Sis and I could be so silly!”
“All aboard!” The bus driver calls.
Jewel turns to me and smiles. “Would you carry Baby for me, Piper?”
I take Baby into my arms and hold him close. He licks my chin and wags his tail about a mile a minute.
We walk out to the bus in the falling snow.
“Don’t forget to call Mrs. Tooney tomorrow, Jewel. She’s expecting you,” Jewel’s case worker says. She’s already got a new social worker all lined up for Jewel in Boise.
Daddy hands Baby’s duffel bag up to Jewel as she stands on the bottom step of the bus.
It about tears me up to do it, but I place Baby in Jewel’s arms.
Jewel raises Baby’s paw and waves it. “Say goodbye to all the good people, Baby.”
Baby yips and sneezes.
I laugh, but my heart is breaking too. I love that little dog, I surely do. I am so happy Baby and Jewel can be t
ogether, but a corner of my heart still wishes like anything he was mine.
One last time, Jewel wipes a tear from her face. “This will be the best Thanksgiving I could have ever wished for,” she says.
And then the bus doors close, and they’re gone.
I can’t hardly believe it. All these weeks of thinking about Jewel and especially Baby day and night, and it’s done. Over. I’ll never see them again.
My heart feels like someone yanked it out and wrung it like a washcloth.
Then I feel a small, sticky hand slip into mine. Dylan looks up at me and says in his croaky little voice, “It’s okay, Peeper.”
As we start back to the car, Daddy and Ree walking side by side, Mama stops. She looks at the hand of Dylan’s I’m not holding. “Where’s Ted the Shark?” she asks, kind of in a panic because we all know what a fit Dylan can pitch when he’s lost Ted the Shark.
Dylan grins, showing the gap left by the tooth he lost just the other day. “I put him in Baby’s duffel bag. It’s a surprise.”
I laugh. The sadness in my heart untwists and lifts. I tweak his ear. “You’re something else, Toto, you know that?”
As we walk back to our car, I remember that word: serendipity. It means when things that don’t seem to have anything to do with each other come together in a good way. Kind of like puzzle pieces that don’t look like anything until you put them together and all of a sudden you have a tree or the sky. It was serendipity, that day I saw Jewel and Baby on the street corner, and it was serendipity meeting Ree in the park, moving to Hope House and finding the best friends I’ve ever had and the best Firefly Girls troop ever. All the pieces coming together to help Jewel and Baby. And me.
If you ask me, I think there’s a little bit of magic in serendipity too.
I look at the snow-covered mountains rising up so high, so sharp in the distance. Daddy says come spring, we’ll go up there and see all there is to see: the forests and streams and lakes. I reckon that means we’re here to stay.
Until then, me and the girls of Troop 423 will shine our little lights together to make the world a better place, even if it’s just for an old woman and her little dog. Because to Jewel and Baby—and to us—it means everything in the world.
58
Baby and Jewel
Baby knows the smell of the bus.
The sharp, slick smell of gas,