She Loves Me Not by Wendy Corsi Staub Page B

“Yeah, Cupid is okay. But I get to feed him first.”
    â€œThen I get to walk him first,” is Jenna’s response.
    â€œCome on . . . we can walk him now. All three of us.” Leslie sets the puppy on the ground.
    A sudden gust sways the bare branches overhead and tosses a tuft of Rose’s long, loose hair across her eyes. Arms laden with the kids’ belongings, she turns to face into the wind. As her hair blows back from her face, her gaze falls on the side yard.
    She frowns. The white blanket of snow is marred by tracks of some sort.
    â€œHow are we going to walk him?” Jenna is asking. “Won’t he run away?”
    â€œNah, I bought him a leash. We’ll let Mommy go inside and get settled before we bring him in. Okay, Mommy?”
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œWe’re going to walk the dog while you go inside. What do you say?”
    Rose turns to flash her sister-in-law a tight smile. “Sounds good, Aunt Leslie.”
    Leslie looks more closely at her, lowering her voice as the kids romp at her feet with the puppy. “You okay, Ro?”
    â€œYeah . . . it was just a long day. And Leo was up in the middle of the night.”
    â€œAgain?”
    She nods. “Mr. Gregg said he was so exhausted that he fell asleep with his head on the table after snack this morning.”
    â€œWho’s Mr. Gregg?”
    â€œThe new instructor at Toddler Tyme.”
    â€œA guy working in day care? That’s unusual.”
    Rose shrugs. “He’s great with the kids. Especially with Leo. And he had a good suggestion for getting him to sleep through the night again.”
    Leslie leans her willowy frame back against her open car door. “Yeah? What? Drug him?”
    â€œActually, he said I should get a sound machine. You know, the kind that creates white noise in the room. He said his mother has used one in her apartment in the city for years. It drowns out sirens and street noise.”
    â€œWell, there’s no street noise out here.” Leslie gestures at the quiet neighborhood around them.
    Rose looks again at the side yard.
    There appear to be footsteps in the snow there. Maybe an animal? Or kids cutting through the yard?
    Or maybe it’s just your imagination, because that’s where Sam died. Maybe you want to think his ghost is hanging around there . . .
    â€œHere, Ro—this is for you.” Leslie takes a gold-wrapped box of Godiva truffles from the front seat of the car, along with a leash for the puppy.
    â€œFor me? Thanks, Leslie.” Touched, Rose kisses her sister-in-law on the cheek, wishing she had thought to buy Leslie a Valentine’s treat, or at least send her a card.
    Sam always brought his sister flowers on Valentine’s Day. His mother, too.
    â€œThey get carnations, but the roses are only for my Rose,” he would say, as though he thought she minded his gifts to the other women in his life.
    Of course she didn’t. She always took pleasure in seeing how bighearted Sam touched the lives of everyone around him.
    â€œHere . . . let me put this in Jenna’s backpack for you,” Leslie is saying. “You don’t have a free hand.”
    â€œThanks.” Rose wrestles her thoughts away from Sam as his sister unzips the backpack on her shoulder.
    â€œOops,” Leslie says, as a calculator drops out.
    â€œMy calculator!” Jenna shrieks. “Did it break? I need it for my homework!”
    â€œCalm down, Jenna,” Rose admonishes.
    Leslie turns it on, commenting, “I can’t believe you get to use a calculator for math homework these days. Back when I was a kid, you’d get into trouble if you did that. Don’t worry, Jen, it works fine,” she announces, pressing some buttons and handing the calculator to her niece. “Look. What numbers are those?”
    â€œ3-1-7-5-3-7,” Jenna reads off.
    â€œNow flip the calculator over and read it