Picture This by Jacqueline Sheehan Page A

they stay for meditation,” said Melissa.
    â€œOkay then, go get your laptop and I’ll fire up my little grill. Tess is threatening to teach me how to make pasta prima something or other, but I’m in the mood for burgers. That okay with you?”
    Melissa squeezed her face into a grimace. “Gack, red meat. Can I bring over a frozen veggie burger, or would something other than flesh contaminate your grill?”
    â€œI can make exceptions. Go, run like the wind and bring me pictures and veggie burger abominations.”
    As Melissa went out and slammed the screen door, Cooper looked inquiringly after her. He did not like his pack divided and was faced with the worst decisions of his day when his humans split up.
    â€œOkay, big guy, go with her. Do whatever you do with her that makes her smile. I’ll stay here and guard your fifty-pound sack of dog food from invaders.”
    Cooper stood at the door and waited for Rocky to open it. He galloped after Melissa. Was this what happiness felt like? Rocky planned to see Hill later in the evening, to surprise him on his first night back from man camp. She was learning the balancing act of retaining what she felt for Bob while making room for Hill. There was no denying the exquisite longing for Hill that made her twitch unexpectedly. This would be an experiment: how did he deal with surprises?
    Rocky made a dinner of broiled hamburger and Classic Coke (for herself) and veggie burger and Diet Coke (for Melissa); she fed Cooper, and then they settled in to watch Melissa’s slide show on her laptop. They squeezed their chairs together at the maple dining table to peer into the screen. Melissa had added music by a band that Rocky had never heard of. A procession of dogs came into focus with the special effects that Melissa had learned in Mr. Clarke’s class. Rocky oohed and aahed, exclaiming and laughing.
    â€œYou really get these dogs. There’s something very loving and touching about the photos.” Rocky knew she had to stop right there; Melissa would reject too much acclaim as idiotic, or she might simply call Rocky idiotic for praising something that she had created. Either way, Rocky might have already gone too far.
    Melissa wiggled shyly, unable to contain a ripple of acceptance. “Yeah, I think some of these are okay.” She closed down the laptop.
    â€œI have ice cream. Mint chocolate chip. Want some?” asked Rocky.
    â€œStop right there—too much. My personal food borders are in danger of being violated.”
    Rocky did not expect this repartee from the girl, the closeness that it suggested. This was the first time Melissa had acknowledged the war that she had fought with food. She was finally emerging from that conflict; Rocky had not seen the monstrous clutches of the eating disorder in months. Still, she knew that Melissa had wrestled the beast to the ground in her own way, sans therapists, and Rocky had accepted the job of watching from a respectful distance. She chose her words carefully and made them brief.
    â€œInvasion noted. Cooper needs one more walk for the night. Want to come with us and we’ll swing by your house at the end of the loop?”
    At the sound of two of his favorite words, “Cooper” and “walk,” the dog arose from what had appeared to be a solid slumber beneath the table. He went to the door and then looked over his back at the two of them.
    â€œWho can say no to this dog? Sure,” said Melissa.
    The network of footpaths was extensive, and Rocky chose the one that dipped to the beach at one point. It was past eight o’clock, and the light still lingered in the sky.
    â€œCan I ask you something personal?” asked Melissa.
    â€œOkay, as long as I can always decline to answer.”
    â€œI know you really loved your husband, and it was awful how he died and all, but now you’ve got a boyfriend, which I think is awesome, don’t get me wrong. But