Shepherd's Crook
breath and listened. A knock followed by the clink of keys, the noisy front-door hinge, and another voice. My neighbor Goldie.
    â€œJanet? Where are you? Oh, hello, Mr. Leo. How’s my little man?”
    With one hand I grabbed the laundry basket that held the laundry room door open and half slid, half lifted it out of the way. With my other hand I pushed the door closed, turning the knob to soften the sound of latching. Okay, now what? As I raised the laundry basket, meaning to set it on top of the dryer, its edge caught the open flap of the giant box of detergent that I’d neglected to stow against the wall. The tilt of the box traveled through the plastic basket, up my arm, and into my brain, but not in time for me to stop its momentum. Whup. The front of the box hit the floor and white powder with magic blue sparkly bits whooshed across the vinyl.
    I grabbed the rooster towel from the top of the dryer and backed up against the wall, straddling the detergent box and trying to figure out how to use the terrycloth rectangle to best effect. It didn’t offer much. I held my breath and listened.
    The back door opened and Tom’s voice came into my hiding place, loud and clear and much closer. “Mmmm. What’s that?”
    â€œTomato basil bread. I baked an extra loaf for you two.” Goldie, much as I loved her, was the bane of my weight-loss efforts.
    Tom said something I couldn’t make out, and then, “Where’s Janet?”
    She’s trapped nekkid in the laundry room , I thought, wishing for two things. First, that Tom would leave the dogs outside for a bit so they wouldn’t give me away. And next, that something would make Tom and Goldie go out with them for any crazy reason so that I could scamper back to the bedroom. If either of them had been alone, I would have braved the run back to my bedroom au naturel , but the two of them together ratcheted up the embarrassment factor. I wondered whether this was how the sheep felt when a dog had them cornered in a pen.
    â€œJanet? Where aaaaare you? I have fresh bread!”
    â€œI didn’t see her outside. She must be changing or something,” said Tom. The refrigerator opened, and Tom asked, “Beer?”
    For the briefest moment I still hoped he would leave the dogs outdoors. If Tom and Goldie moved out of the kitchen, I might be able to grab a big wet towel from the dryer and sneak past them. But my hopes were dashed when something thump thump thumped hard against the outside of the laundry room wall and snuffling sounds filtered up from under the door, followed by a soft little whine, which anyone who hears dog spoken as much as I do would understand to mean, “In here! She’s in here!” Traitor!
    Goldie wasn’t fluent enough in dog to have gotten the message, but Tom was. I grabbed the doorknob just as it began to turn, and heard Tom say, “What the … Janet? Are you in there?”
    I leaned in and pulled the door open a crack. “Yes, but, umm …”
    Tom pushed the door a little farther. “What are you …” His eyes traveled from my face to the arm I held across my breasts to my red rooster loin cloth and he broke into the biggest grin I’ve seen since my brother got his Corvette. “Nice outfit!”
    â€œCould you please get me some jeans and a top? And stop laughing.”
    â€œWho’s laughing?” He did a Groucho Marx with his eyebrows.
    Jay wedged his head and shoulders past Tom and sniffed my knee.
    â€œThat tickles,” I said, stroking his chin and easing him back out the door. “Come on, Tom, please get me some clothes.”
    â€œOkay, but only because Goldie’s here.”
    He was still laughing when he got back from the bedroom.

fifteen
    Tom brought me sweatpants and a T-shirt, so I pulled them on and scampered off to the bedroom to get properly dressed. When I returned to the kitchen, Goldie was in full snit about something,

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