bright yellow sheets and addressed them to friends and neighbors and anyone else whose listing we found in Mom’s phone book. Not Peachie, though. I sat, looking at her name and number, feeling this miserable mixture of sadness and anger. Horrible old Peachie, I thought. This is your fault! But somehow my thoughts didn’t sound all that sincere, even to myself. Maybe because things didn’t seem so hopeless anymore.
“I wonder what Ellis and Duane are doing now,” Grace asked, licking stamps and putting them on our folded flyers. She used her closed fist to thump each stamp in place. “Bam! Take this, Ellis! Bam! Take this, Duane,” she muttered, and that made Mom and me laugh.
There were three great piles of folded flyers on the table, and Mom touched one of them with the tip of her finger, careful not to knock it over. “Talk about covering the waterfront,” she said cheerfully.
“Talk about no stone unturned,” Grace added.
“Talk about no bridge left uncrossed,” I added, though I wasn’t sure that made much sense.
Grace took the flyers to mail when she left. “I’ll kiss each one for luck before I drop it through the slot,” she said, and I went, “
Yuck
, poison in your mailbox.”
When she’d gone, I made a calendar and taped it on the side of the refrigerator below the lawyer’s card. We weren’t hearing much from him, but Mom said that was all right. It was the way lawyers worked. He’d be biding his time, but we could be sure he was preparing his case. I hoped he was working his buns off.
There were twenty-one squares on the calendar, one for every day Riley had left. I X-ed out the first one in red. One day used up, twenty to go. And I tried hard not to look at the last square, not to think what it meant. All day long I’d tried not to see Riley’s face on our flyers. I’d tried to make this a sort of game, a challenge, and not remember what the reward would be or what would happen if we lost.
When Grandpa and I were starting on the pond, he’d say to me, “We can’t do it all in one day, Willie Boy. One step at a time. Just keep going.” I’d remember. One step at a time. And I’d keep going.
Stephen, the pound man, called Mom that night. She looked happy and young when she talked to him, and that was another strange thing worth thinking about. If it hadn’t been for Riley, they’d never have met. It was too early yet to figure out if that was a plus or a minus.
“How is Riley?” I heard her ask him, and then she held the phone away and said to me, “Riley’s fine. Stephen says he’s eating well and he doesn’t seem to be moping.”
“Ask him … ask him …” I began. But I didn’t know what else I
could
ask him. “Does Riley miss me? Does he miss our runs in the woods? Does heremember the day at the river when he saved me? Does he miss sleeping with me, his head on the pillow next to mine?” But how could the pound man know the answers? And then I had a brainstorm and I leaped out of my chair.
“Mom! Mom! I know I’m not supposed to see Riley … like I’ve got head lice or something. But couldn’t Stephen smuggle me in? I could wear a disguise, even. I mean, Stephen’s your friend and he works there. Who would recognize me anyway? If I could just see Riley again, stroke him, let him lick my face.” I stopped. In a minute I was going to bawl. I tried to grab the phone. “Let me talk….”
“Honey! Honey!” Mom fended me off, and her face was so loving and understanding that I knew I definitely
was
going to bawl.
On the phone I could hear Stephen saying my name, and Mom handed the phone over to me.
I swallowed hard.
Stephen’s voice, so close he could have been in the kitchen with us, said, “William? I know you want to see your dog. But believe me, it would be the wrong thing to do. You agreed to that. Riley’s on … well, he’s kind of on parole now. You don’t want to break the rules and spoil it for him. It’s not worth the
“I wonder what Ellis and Duane are doing now,” Grace asked, licking stamps and putting them on our folded flyers. She used her closed fist to thump each stamp in place. “Bam! Take this, Ellis! Bam! Take this, Duane,” she muttered, and that made Mom and me laugh.
There were three great piles of folded flyers on the table, and Mom touched one of them with the tip of her finger, careful not to knock it over. “Talk about covering the waterfront,” she said cheerfully.
“Talk about no stone unturned,” Grace added.
“Talk about no bridge left uncrossed,” I added, though I wasn’t sure that made much sense.
Grace took the flyers to mail when she left. “I’ll kiss each one for luck before I drop it through the slot,” she said, and I went, “
Yuck
, poison in your mailbox.”
When she’d gone, I made a calendar and taped it on the side of the refrigerator below the lawyer’s card. We weren’t hearing much from him, but Mom said that was all right. It was the way lawyers worked. He’d be biding his time, but we could be sure he was preparing his case. I hoped he was working his buns off.
There were twenty-one squares on the calendar, one for every day Riley had left. I X-ed out the first one in red. One day used up, twenty to go. And I tried hard not to look at the last square, not to think what it meant. All day long I’d tried not to see Riley’s face on our flyers. I’d tried to make this a sort of game, a challenge, and not remember what the reward would be or what would happen if we lost.
When Grandpa and I were starting on the pond, he’d say to me, “We can’t do it all in one day, Willie Boy. One step at a time. Just keep going.” I’d remember. One step at a time. And I’d keep going.
Stephen, the pound man, called Mom that night. She looked happy and young when she talked to him, and that was another strange thing worth thinking about. If it hadn’t been for Riley, they’d never have met. It was too early yet to figure out if that was a plus or a minus.
“How is Riley?” I heard her ask him, and then she held the phone away and said to me, “Riley’s fine. Stephen says he’s eating well and he doesn’t seem to be moping.”
“Ask him … ask him …” I began. But I didn’t know what else I
could
ask him. “Does Riley miss me? Does he miss our runs in the woods? Does heremember the day at the river when he saved me? Does he miss sleeping with me, his head on the pillow next to mine?” But how could the pound man know the answers? And then I had a brainstorm and I leaped out of my chair.
“Mom! Mom! I know I’m not supposed to see Riley … like I’ve got head lice or something. But couldn’t Stephen smuggle me in? I could wear a disguise, even. I mean, Stephen’s your friend and he works there. Who would recognize me anyway? If I could just see Riley again, stroke him, let him lick my face.” I stopped. In a minute I was going to bawl. I tried to grab the phone. “Let me talk….”
“Honey! Honey!” Mom fended me off, and her face was so loving and understanding that I knew I definitely
was
going to bawl.
On the phone I could hear Stephen saying my name, and Mom handed the phone over to me.
I swallowed hard.
Stephen’s voice, so close he could have been in the kitchen with us, said, “William? I know you want to see your dog. But believe me, it would be the wrong thing to do. You agreed to that. Riley’s on … well, he’s kind of on parole now. You don’t want to break the rules and spoil it for him. It’s not worth the
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