The Guardians by Katie Ashley Page B

jump up on people. What am I gonna do with you?” Atticus responded to her light hearted admonishment by continuing to lick her face. She wrapped her arms around the dog and kissed along the ridge of his nose. As she rubbed his ears, she peered into his face. “You better not tell Hannah about this. She’ll get jealous you were showing me all this attention. You’re supposed to be her baby, remember?”
    Atticus wagged his tail and barked.
    Abby gave him one last rub down and then stood up. “All right, enough,” she said as she stood up from the hardwood floor.
    I slipped inside just as Abby closed the garage door. Atticus’s ears perked up, and I knew the dog could sense the second presence entering the kitchen.
    Abby glanced over at Atticus. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s time to roll the shorts down before dad comes home with Hannah and freaks at all my excess skin,” she said, as she quickly unrolled the waist of her shorts. As they came further down her thighs, she laughed to herself. “Abigail Thomas, nice young ladies shouldn’t show so much skin,” she said, deepening her voice to mock her father’s condescension.
    I stood rooted to the kitchen floor, mesmerized. I’d never been alone with a teenage girl before. In fact, I’d rarely, if ever, interacted with them. Everything she did was strange but interesting. It was like the weaving of a spell, and my mind felt cloudy. For a moment, I forgot all about my purpose for being in the kitchen. Instead, I hung on to her every word and action.
    “I guess I better be a good girl and start dinner before Daddy comes in. Whatcha think?”
    Atticus wagged his tail in response.
    I watched Abby while she buzzed through the inconsequential details of preparing dinner. Sadness washed over me as she began talking to herself to fill the emptiness of the house, and I knew this was probably something she and her mother used to do.
    “What should I cook for dinner, Atticus?” she wondered, as she noisily got pots and pans out of the cabinets and put them on the granite counter. Abby threw open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Chicken, pork chops, hamburgers,” she rattled off absentmindedly. Once she settled on chicken, she grabbed a large package and tossed it on the countertop.
    “Ugh, it’s just too quiet in here!” she cried, as she dug her pink iPod out of her purse. She put it in the docking station on the counter, and a song I’d heard many years before, Aerosmith’s “Angel”, blared out of the speakers. The music’s upbeat tempo prompted Abby to nod her head in time. When Steven Tyler’s voice emanated out of the speakers, Abby raised hers in song as well.
    I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Abby wasn’t the greatest singer in the world, but she certainly made up for it with enthusiasm. She shimmied her shoulders as she sung into the spoon in her hands. The music rolled easily through her as she danced around the kitchen. Atticus wagged his tail appreciatively at her exertions. Finally, I gave in, and let a smile twitch at the corners of my mouth.
    Suddenly, she stopped singing. Her carefree expression vanished like a vapor, replaced by one of grief. Two tears slid over her cheeks as she sunk slowly down on the kitchen floor.
    I watched helplessly as Abby’s body shook from violent sobs. I knelt down beside her, desperate to understand what caused the raging storm of emotion. When she raised her head, I locked my eyes with her grief-stricken eyes. She could not see me, but the strength of her pain allowed me a clear look into her mind, which was wrapped around a vivid memory.
    She and her mother were driving down a highway somewhere. Rain beat against the roof of the car, and the windshield wipers were working double time to keep the visibility clear.
    Victoria fumbled with the buttons on the radio. When she flipped past an Aerosmith song, she quickly flipped back.
    Abby raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Since when do you listen to