Rose couldn’t believe that she was mad at Mavis again.
But she had every right to be mad.
Didn’t she?
Hadn’t Mavis gone and done exactly what Rose had asked her not to do?
It nearly broke Rose’s heart thinking about Mr. Duffy’s face when Mavis said that about giving Queenie’s bed to the Salvation Army.
When she had gotten home, Rose had gone up to Grace’s room and sat on the thick pink carpet. She looked around at Grace’s gymnastics ribbons taped to the dresser mirror, the dried-up prom corsage on the bookshelf, the teddy bear some boy had given her nestled in the cushions of the rocker by the window. Before long, Rose realized she wasn’t mad anymore. Maybe a little sullen and brooding, but not actually mad.
After a while, she went downstairs to the library and called Grace. She used to call her every day, but Grace was always busy doing fun things at that lake in Maine. So now she only called when she really, really needed to talk.
Today, Rose really, really needed to talk.
The phone rang and rang, and Rose was ready to give up when Grace answered in that breathless way of hers, saying, “Rosie!”
Rose told Grace how worried she was about Mr. Duffy. How he seemed so sad and how folks in Magnolia Estates were always complaining about him.
And Grace said the perfect Grace thing.
“Aw, those old biddies complain about everything. Don’t worry about it.”
Then Rose told her about her new friend, Mavis. How they had a Best Friends Club and how Mavis wanted to find a dog for Mr. Duffy.
“A Best Friends Club?” Grace squealed. “That’s great, Rosie! And looking for a dog sounds like fun.”
Rose felt a wave of comfort settle over her. Grace had a way of doing that.
She was going to tell Grace about the dog in the woods, but then she heard girls jabbering and laughing in the background, and Grace said she had to go.
After that, Rose went outside and found Mavis, who was drawing with chalk on the apartment steps.
“I’m sorry I got mad,” Rose said.
Mavis looked up from her drawing and said, “That’s okay.” Then she put the chalk down and stood up. “I shouldn’t have mentioned a dog to Mr. Duffy again. You asked me not to, but I did anyway.” Mavis blushed a little and added, “I’m sorry.”
Then Mavis made up a special handshake that involved slapping palms and snapping fingers and bumping fists. They practiced it over and over until they could do it perfectly every time. Then they made a plan to look for the dog in the woods the following afternoon.
* * *
That evening at supper, Rose took tiny bites of creamed corn and tried hard not to make a face. Making faces over food she didn’t like irked her mother.
Her father was on his third helping of beef Wellington and sipping red wine when her mother launched into a tirade about Mr. Duffy.
“Gerald Berkley said nearly every time he gets to the gatehouse, the coffee is practically burnt up in the bottom of the pot with the coffee maker on.”
Mr. Tully glanced at Mrs. Tully.
A most disinterested glance.
Then he sliced a piece of beef Wellington and said, “Who is Gerald Berkley?”
Mrs. Tully crossed her arms.
“I told you,” she said. “The new night-shift gatekeeper.”
Mr. Tully just nodded and said, “Oh.”
Mrs. Tully went on. “And Connie Jacobs says that when Mr. Duffy goes out to check on something, he leaves the keys right in the door lock so every criminal in town can go in there and help themselves.”
“Help themselves to what, Cora?” Mr. Tully asked.
“I don’t know, Robert,” her mother said. “Whatever’s in there, I suppose.”
Mr. Tully lifted his eyebrows, said “Huh,” and went back to eating and sipping wine.
“And not only will he not wear that uniform he was given,” Mrs. Tully continued, “but he wears the same raggedy clothes day in and day out. It’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing to whom?” Mr. Tully said.
Her mother placed her fork carefully on her plate, put her hands in her lap, leaned forward, and said, “To everyone, Robert.”
She looked at her plate and frowned. “This beef Wellington is way overdone.”
Mr. Tully winked at Rose, and she winked back.
The dining room grew quiet. The sound of silver forks on china plates seemed to echo and bounce against the flowered wallpaper and drift up to the crystal chandelier.
When Miss Jeeter came in to clear the table, Rose quickly spread the creamed corn around on her plate so it looked like she had eaten some.
“Do y’all want that sherbert now?” Miss Jeeter asked.
“Sorbet,” Mrs. Tully corrected her. “And yes, please,” she added.
Rose was certain she heard Miss Jeeter say, “Whatever,” as she left through the swinging kitchen door.
* * *
That night in bed, Rose thought about that dog, Henry. Would she and Mavis be able to find him? Was he out there in the woods behind Amanda’s house right now? And if they found him, would Mr. Duffy want him? And if he wanted him, would he be able to love him as much as he had loved Queenie? And if he loved him that much, would he stop being sad and forgetful?
Rose wished she could be sure about everything, like Mavis was.
But she wasn’t.