It might have been Bug. It seemed as silky and soft as Bug. She automatically looked down so she wouldn’t step on the little dog. How had he gotten here? Hadn’t they left him behind in Todd’s yard with the gate bolted?
But what she saw wasn’t Bug. It was … nothing.
Whatever had brushed against her had been much larger than Bug, anyway. It had reached nearly to the top of her thigh.
She looked around again. Again she saw nothing except a plain linoleum floor, old and stained and dirty. There was the chair and the table with the crusty bowl and the spoon and the mug. There was the sludge of leftover coffee in the bottom of the mug.
Delsie reached down and around her on every side, feeling for whatever had stopped her.
Nothing.
And yet she could have sworn that something had bumped into her.
“Come on, Delsie,” Todd called from the porch. “Are you nuts? Somebody lives here. Breaking and entering. That’s what they call it when you go into somebody’s house without permission.”
Delsie started for the door.
After a few steps, she stopped again. She knew Todd was right. They didn’t belong in here. But …
But what?
She didn’t know, except that it had been something. Something silky and just about thigh-high had bumped into her.
She looked around at the sagging couch, the plywood table, the out-of-date TV. Then she gave herself a shake and ran out the door.
Todd waited on the cracked sidewalk. He didn’t say anything when she reached him. He just started jogging toward their bikes.
She followed.
Delsie kept looking back, though. She couldn’t help it.
The big dog followed the children along the empty street.
Her owner had gone off again. Sometimes she followed him when he left. Sometimes she didn’t. It didn’t seem to make much difference either way. He never saw her any longer.
These children, though, were a different story. Especially the girl. The golden dog was almost certain the girl had seen her. Or at least she had come close to seeing her.
That seeing—that near seeing—drew the big dog like a magnet.
When the children rode off in the same direction her owner had gone earlier, she paused for a moment, considering. If she followed, if she at least went a short distance in that direction, she might find him.
Her owner.
Or the girl.
Either one would do.
Her plumed tail lifting, the golden dog set off after the bikes.
inner at Delsie’s house was chicken salad. It was chicken salad with raisins in it. Delsie liked chicken salad well enough, but she hated raisins.
When she was a little kid, she’d tried to throw away a whole carton of raisins from the grocery storeroom. Her plan had been to haul them to the woods behind the store and hide them. She’d figured that if the store ran out of raisins, her mother would have to quit putting them into everything.
Her dad had caught her halfway across the backyard, tugging on the heavy box. He’d thought it was funny. He’d called her the raisin thief.
Even now, when he looked at the pile of raisins on the edge of her plate, he said, “So what kind of a day has our raisin thief had?” His voice came out brightly cheerful, the way it always did when he tried to be funny.
“Fine,” Delsie said. She extracted another raisin. Then, before he could ask her something else, she asked, “Does anybody still live in the ghost hou—I mean, the old mill houses?”
Her mother frowned. “Nobody’s lived there for years,” she said. “Not since the mill shut down.”
“Why?” her father asked. He was suddenly serious, too. “You and Todd haven’t been poking around there, have you?”
“Oh … we just rode our bikes near there,” Delsie said. “And I got to wondering. That’s all.” She concentrated on another raisin that had attached itself to a piece of celery.
It wasn’t quite a lie.
“Well, you know you’re not—” her father started to say.
But just then the bell on the door downstairs jangled. That meant a customer had come into the store. Instead of finishing his sentence, Delsie’s father pushed his chair back from the table.
It was probably Miss Daley.
Most people avoided coming into the store during suppertime. They knew the family would be upstairs eating. But Miss Daley wasn’t most people. She seemed to pick suppertime nearly every day to run out of milk. Or she suddenly needed tea bags or a box of crackers, some little thing like that.
When Dad came back from waiting on her, he always reported on what she had bought.
Mom said Miss Daley came in then because she knew she could have Dad to herself … no other customers. No Mom, either.
Dad just laughed when Mom said that.
“Here’s our daily customer,” he said now. And he chuckled at his own joke even though he made it every time.
After he’d gone, Delsie began counting her raisins. She had gotten to twelve when her mother started in where her father had left off. “Delsie,” she said, “you and Todd aren’t—”
“No, of course not!” Delsie exclaimed. And to her relief, that was the end of the conversation.
When Delsie’s dad came back, her mom asked, “Was it Miss Daley?”
“No,” he replied. “It was an old man. I’ve seen him once or twice before, but I don’t know who he is.”
Someone her dad didn’t know? Delsie was surprised. He usually knew everyone who came into the store.
“Bob Holtz told me he thought some old guy was camping out in one of the mill houses,” her dad added. “Homeless, I guess. Maybe he’s the one.”
A homeless man camping out in one of the mill houses! Delsie pushed away from the table. She hurried to the windows at the front of the living room so she could look out at the street.
There he was, heading in the direction of the mill. The man had a thin ponytail of white hair hanging down his back. He wore overalls and, despite the heat, a long-sleeved flannel shirt.
Was he the one? Was it his house she and Todd had been in?
And what was that following him? She couldn’t quite make it out.
It could have been a collection of fireflies, glimmering in the evening light.
It could have been … nothing.
Just her imagination again.
Still, she wanted a closer look. So she called, trying to sound casual, “I’m finished with supper. I think I’ll go out and ride my bike for a little while.”
“Trying to get in your last sips of summer?” her mother replied. She said it in the kind of understanding mother-voice that made Delsie feel instantly guilty.
What would her mom say if she knew Delsie was going out to follow a stranger?
But it wasn’t the stranger … it was the glimmer in the air right behind him. It was the unforgettable feeling of something silky brushing against her thigh.
Somehow—Delsie didn’t know quite how—the two were connected. She was certain of it.
Delsie hurried down the stairs.
elsie pedaled hard along the quiet street. The man wasn’t far ahead of her on the sidewalk. She passed him quickly.
He had a grocery bag in each hand. The small plastic kind. They didn’t look heavy, but he walked as though they weighed him down. He walked as though something weighed him down. He didn’t even look up as she rode by.
What was it like to be homeless?
What was it like to be homeless and to be followed around by a collection of fireflies? That was what it had looked like when she’d seen him from their apartment. It was what it looked like still.
Was there some kind of shape in the glimmering?
Or was the whole thing her imagination? Todd called it her “girly” imagination when he was annoyed with her. Sometimes it seemed that “girly” was the worst word he knew.
Delsie made a U-turn and pedaled back. She stopped her bike before she reached th
e man and waited for him to approach.
A car swooshed by, turned the corner, and disappeared. There weren’t many cars on the street in Milton in the evening.
“Hi,” she said when the man reached her.
His head jerked up. Hadn’t he known she was there? For a fraction of a second, he hesitated. But then his head dropped again, and he walked on by.
He hadn’t even said hi. Nobody in Milton ever walked past without saying hi.
Delsie shrugged and climbed back onto her bike.
But before she could resume pedaling, there it was again … the glimmer. And this time, she could make out a golden shape.
The shape followed at the man’s heels as though it were … almost as though it were …
A dog?
Could it be? A large golden dog?
And then … suddenly … she could see it clearly. See it, but see through it at the same time.
Square head. Floppy ears. The silken fur rippled with each step. The dark eyes looked at her, looked right inside her.
I want you, the eyes said. And I know you want me.
Delsie held out a hand in invitation. The dog hesitated. She stretched her neck to sniff Delsie’s hand. But then she turned her head away … sadly, Delsie thought.
The dog stayed close behind the man.
Was she real? How could she be? She was a dog that seemed to be made up of a million tiny lights.
Or was she a ghost?
Who ever heard of a ghost dog?
Who ever heard of a ghost anything outside of stories?
But there she was, walking along in a sparkling dog shape.
Delsie stared after the magnificent creature. Her great tail waved slowly from side to side. She stayed so close behind the old man, she might have been leashed. But there was no leash.
Anyway, no laws said ghost dogs had to be leashed. Did they?
Delsie didn’t know how she felt about the idea of a ghost dog. She didn’t know how she should feel. She had never believed in ghosts particularly. No more than any other kid when stories were being told around a campfire on a dark night.
But it wasn’t even night yet. The sun still rode halfway down the sky.
It was early evening, a perfectly ordinary evening in Milton. Except for a ghost dog walking down Main Street.
If Todd saw the dog, if only Todd saw the dog, he wouldn’t be able to complain about her imagination ever again. Not in a million, trillion years!
Delsie drew in her breath. Then she turned her bike around and headed for Todd’s house, passing the old man and the golden dog once more. Todd’s house lay about two blocks ahead. If she hurried, she could get him outside in time to see the ghost dog.
She dropped her bike in front of Todd’s house and took the steps to the porch in a single bound. She knocked and rang the doorbell at the same time.
Bug responded with a flurry of barks.
Then when Todd opened the door, Bug flew through it. Delsie had prepared herself for the onslaught. Bug always threw himself at her, scrabbling at her legs as though he meant to climb her. But this time he had other ideas. He barreled right past. He flung himself off the porch and across the front yard, yapping.
Bug ran at the man and the golden dog, making a noise that would have done credit to ten little dogs.
“Bug!” Todd yelled after him. He turned to Delsie and added in the same cross voice, “What’s wrong with him, anyway?” He said it as though she had caused Bug to lose his little doggy mind.
“Bug!” he yelled again. And he leapt off the front porch, too.
But Bug was paying no attention to Todd. Instead, he was dancing and barking. Barking and dancing.
He paid no attention to the man, either. He danced around the glimmering golden dog, barking his head off.
The big dog stood patiently. She glowed patiently. She might have been waiting for Bug to learn some manners.
“Bug!” Delsie called. “Don’t!”
The man had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Dad-blasted dog!” he yelled. “Get away from me!”
And he swung at Bug. First he swung one of his bags of groceries. The bag missed.
Then he swung a booted foot.
The foot connected.
Bug yelped, a single piercing cry. He turned and barreled back toward the house. His ears flowed out behind him. He held his long, plumed tail tight beneath his belly.
Delsie couldn’t believe that anyone—anyone in the world—could kick a dog. Especially sweet little Bug!
“You!” she yelled at the old man. She ran at him. “How could you? He wasn’t doing anything to you!”
“He was jumping at me,” the man said. He swiped his nose with the back of a grimy hand, still holding one of the bags of groceries. “He had his mouth open, and he was jumping at me.”
“He wasn’t jumping at you!” Delsie protested. “He was jumping at your—”
But Todd interrupted. “You didn’t have to kick him!” he yelled. “Bug’s never bitten anybody in his life!”
Todd didn’t stay to finish the argument, though. He followed Bug back to the house and sat on the porch steps, gathering his little dog into his arms. Delsie was left alone to face the man.
The man fixed his gaze on Delsie. “I hate dogs!” he growled. His bushy white eyebrows were knotted fiercely. “I hate every single one of them.”
Even as the man spoke, the golden dog gazed lovingly into his face. He might have been saying wonderful things … to her, about her.
How could she be following such a cruel master, anyway?
Delsie stepped toward the man. “We know where you’re staying,” she said in a low, threatening voice. “You’re camping out in one of the mill houses, and we know it.”
He didn’t say anything, but his face pinched together as if he’d been slapped.
“That’s breaking and entering, you know,” Delsie went on. “We’ll tell the police, and they’ll put you in jail. That’s where you belong! Jail!”
Delsie didn’t know whether the police cared that the man was staying in one of the mill houses, but they ought to. They ought to care about anybody who kicked a little dog.
The man poked out his chin. “They won’t need to bother looking,” he said. “Because I won’t be there. I’ll be gone before they get a chance.”
And he turned and started up the street again. Incredibly, the golden dog still followed him.
If only Todd could see …
But Delsie hadn’t even tried to show him.
“Todd!” she called. “Todd … look!” She pointed at the retreating figure.
Todd sat with his arms wrapped around Bug. The little dog waggled from head to toe, licking Todd’s face. Obviously he had recovered from the kick.
“What?” Todd asked. But he was folded over Bug and didn’t look up.
“It’s …” Delsie pointed harder after the retreating man and the collection of golden sparkles. “It’s …,” she tried again.
Then she let her hand drop.
“Never mind,” she said.
The pair was too far away already. She could hardly make out the dog shape herself, and she knew how to look. All she could see now were a few sparkles.
Todd would never see the golden dog from this distance.
What would she tell him to look for, anyway? Something that looked like a gathering of fireflies? Something that was supposed to be a dog but that you could see right through?
Besides, maybe a person had to want to see the golden dog to be able to see her. Maybe a person of great imagination had to want very much to see her.
Delsie turned back toward Todd and Bug—Todd’s very solid little dog.
he golden dog followed the man, but she kept turning her head to watch the girl. She watched and watched.
She loved the man. She had loved him since they had found one another when she was barely more than a pup. That had been a cold night in a much larger city. She had been young and homeless and hu
ngry. He was homeless and hungry, too, though not so young.
They had kept one another warm that first night. And from then on, they had stayed together.
They shared all that came to them. Often it wasn’t much. Food the old man found in Dumpsters behind restaurants and bakeries. An occasional rabbit the golden dog caught. Maybe a shed far enough away from a farmhouse to be safe for shelter. Or a large cardboard box behind some bushes in a park.
Sometimes the man had work. When that happened, he brought food from a grocery store. But soon—the golden dog never knew why—they would be moving again. And then they would be hungry again. Both of them hungry.
The day came when the dog began to grow sick. She didn’t know she was sick. She knew only that the rabbits seemed to run faster. She knew that even the food the man put down in front of her wasn’t appealing.
The two of them stayed close still. Wherever they slept, they slept side by side. The man with his arm thrown across her deep chest. The man with his rough fingers tangled in her golden fur.
The dog slept more and more, and the man stayed close. He stayed close until hunger and cold slipped away … for the dog, anyway.
The golden dog barely noticed the slipping. She simply lay beneath the welcome weight of the man’s arm and breathed and breathed … until she breathed no more.
When her breath was gone, she stayed on. The man was the only human who had ever needed her, so she stayed.
He didn’t speak to her. He clearly no longer knew she was there. But the very rage with which he tackled the world told her how much he needed her still.
And so she stayed close.
Staying didn’t keep her from being lonely, though. If anything, being close to the unseeing man made her longing deeper.
Until the girl. The girl had seen. The girl had seen, and she wanted her.
But how could she leave the man?
The golden dog plodded down the street, following.
Delsie sat down on the porch and put a hand on Bug’s round little head.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Bug leapt up and licked her chin.
The Golden Ghost Page 2