Wish by Barbara O'Connor

Odom added, “I’ll call Bertha and see if it’s okay with her. Mr. Odom’s driving a load of lumber over to Charlotte, so you can sit right there in his chair.”
    So we sat at the table and before I knew what was happening, Howard grabbed my right hand and Dwight grabbed my left and they all bowed their heads while Burl said the blessing. He thanked the Lord for nearly everything under the sun, including the deviled eggs on the plate in front of him.
    Then everybody said “Amen” and dove into that food like they hadn’t eaten in a week.
    Mrs. Odom kept jumping up to get more pork chops or pour more milk, and it seemed like she couldn’t walk by one of those boys without patting their shoulders or kissing the tops of their heads.
    I tried to imagine taking Howard to my house back in Raleigh. So quiet and dark. My school papers would not be taped on the wall and Mama would not kiss me on the top of my head. There wouldn’t be any cake with pink and purple flowers. If Howard stayed for supper, he and I would eat pork and beans or potato chips or a bologna sandwich in front of the TV and nobody would say the blessing.
    When it was time for me to leave, I thanked Mrs. Odom, climbed on Lenny’s bike, and set off for home. As I pedaled up the road, I turned and glanced back at the Odoms’ house. I remembered that first day on the school bus when I had seen it and thought it was so sad-looking. Then I pictured all those boys in that little kitchen getting loved on by their mama and that house didn’t look one bit sad anymore.

 
    Ten
    When I got home, I told Gus and Bertha about Howard’s plan to catch Wishbone.
    â€œWe’re gonna build a great big trap,” I said, stretching my arms out to show how big. “With chicken wire from his daddy’s workshop.”
    Gus’s eyebrows shot up. “A trap, huh?”
    I nodded. “Well, kind of. More like one of those big dog crates. We’re gonna put it out at the edge of the woods beside the garden shed and then we’re gonna stick branches and leaves and stuff in the chicken wire so it blends in.”
    I went on to explain how we were going to put something good to eat inside the crate and when Wishbone went in to eat it, we’d close the door.
    â€œHe likes meat loaf,” Bertha said. “And hot dogs. And bologna.” She tossed a couple of pieces of fish stick left over from supper onto the floor for two of the cats. “Now, I don’t want to rain on your parade, Charlie, but what if that dog isn’t friendly to people? What if he bites? What if he has some kind of dog disease?”
    â€œHe won’t bite. He likes me,” I said, ignoring that question about dog disease.
    â€œGus,” Bertha said, “tell Charlie about that dog you had when you were a kid.” And then she went and told me about Gus’s dog named Skeeter who used to catch rabbits and bring them home for Gus and his sisters to play with. “And one time he climbed in the back of a produce truck and ended up all the way down in Hendersonville and showed up on the front porch the next day full of porcupine quills. Right, Gus?”
    Gus nodded. “Right.”
    â€œAnd then one time he dug up a hornet’s nest,” Bertha said. “That dog must’ve had nine lives, like a cat.”
    â€œMust have,” Gus said.
    â€œTell her about how he waited for you outside school every day.” Bertha scooped one of the cats onto her lap. “Oh, and tell her about how he used to steal chicken livers right out of the frying pan.”
    â€œWe’re gonna bore this poor child to death, Bertie,” he said, winking at me. “Right, Butterbean?”
    Gus had started calling me Butterbean sometimes. That made me feel like a baby, but I didn’t say anything.
    Then Bertha told us about some woman in the grocery store who fainted in the cereal aisle but I wasn’t really