Carli packed Lila and Terrance into two new crates and slid them into her car for their ride to freedom. According to Grant, Lucy had already made her trip. Once home, Lila and Terrance huddled under the kitchen table. Bits of ham and chicken lured them into the open long enough for quick snatches and retreats.
Over the next days, Carli frequently sat on the floor across the room, content to watch and toss tidbits. She was going to give herself time to decide if they were staying, but, within days, Lila and Terrance’s scampering antics had sufficiently captivated her to know they were hers. She took great comfort in having the extra little bodies in her life. They masked some of the apartment’s quiet hum, a hum that contrasted starkly with the powerhouse energy inherent in her former day-to-day at TSW Inc. Did she miss that world? Mostly, she missed the people. On an impulse, Carli dialed Kristin McConnell, one of her creatives still at TSW Inc. and Carli’s first hire.
“Sister!” Kristin shouted. Carli pictured her in her green-and-orange-print top with black slacks. It was funny how you got used to the office attire of co-workers, as though they were family.
Carli shrieked in return, excited to catch Kristin on the first try. Kristin gave the scoop on a couple of old accounts and on surprising changes in personnel. Carli shared news of her latest endeavors – the Church Run, soup kitchen, and Lucy, Lila, and Terrance.
“No!” said Kristin.
“Yes.”
“No,” Kristin repeated.
“I kind of did it for Henry,” said Carli. “You know, my brother.” Carli rarely talked about Henry anymore, but Kristin and Carli went back fifteen years. In that time, they had discussed pretty much everything.
“I get it,” said Kristin. “But you, the workaholic, got a couple of dogs?”
“Like I said, after Lucy, I kind of had to.”
Kristin was a dog person. Had a little French bulldog named Friedrich, a name Kristin and Carli had come up with when they recklessly tossed out names one night in Kristin’s apartment. Carli had said it as a joke, after seeing the brand name on Kristin’s room air conditioner. But then the name stuck. Carli felt like a godmother of sorts, having helped choose his name. Over time, Friedrich definitely grew into a Friedrich. He was unique. And it wasn’t beyond Kristin or Carli to add a French accent to his name on account of his being a Frenchy. Friedrich didn’t care either way.
“Are you getting the doggy line from Flippin’ Dog?” asked Kristin. “You know ... jackets and bandanas? Please say yes, so they match Friedrich.”
“Oh my God, yes.” Carli knew the line well. For fourteen years, she had overseen Flippin’ Dog’s branding and advertising and had helped launch its digital. She had put them in nearly a thousand specialty boutiques and helped promote a line tailored to mass-market distribution online and brick and mortar. Carli was ready to shop. She looked at Lila and was shocked to see her reaction to Carli’s excited conversation. Not only was Lila staring intently, but she was wagging her tail. “Oh, wow! You should see Lila,” said Carli, followed by, “Oh my God, no!”
“What’s wrong?” Kristin shouted back.
“My car must reek. I totally forgot about Lucy’s backpack. It’s in the back of my car. Holy crap.”
“Eww. Sounds bad. Why do you have her backpack?”
“I just picked it up,” said Carli.
“You took it from her?”
“No. It was left behind. I was airing it out before I opened it.”
“Oh my God. Sounds like a cue to ask about your paintings.”
“Yeah, right. Good idea,” said Carli. “I’m making progress. And it’s frightening. I don’t have to sell anything, brand anything, or fit a budget. All I have to do is paint. I haven’t felt this free in forever.”
“Sounds heavenly,” said Kristin.
“Yes, but freedom can be overwhelming. Anyway, I started a couple of waterscapes, and I might head to the Cape for a few days. Of course, now I have to figure in a couple of dogs. Want to dog-sit for me? Even better, do you want a couple of new family members for your little guy?”
“Friedrich!” shouted Kristin.
Carli heard Friedrich bark. Kristin dodged the pet-sitting subject and brought up Carli’s birthday instead. “We’re throwing you a party. You know that, right?”
“Of course,” said Carli. “Like always. Tell me when and I’ll be there.”
Carli opened her SUV’s door and stared at Lucy’s backpack. It no longer smelled horrible, but it continued to radiate a clear message: “Danger!” Carli’s midsection tightened. She never should have taken it. Her first instinct was to toss the pack in the trash, but Carli couldn’t help but wonder what a homeless woman would keep. And whether, God forbid, it would hold a clue to her death. She decided to open it right in the garage.
Two dog sweaters lay on top. One blue quilted and the other red and black plaid. Seeing something familiar was a relief. Carli knew immediately, from the distinct rainbow-colored logo, that they were made by Flippin’ Dog. A smiling dog, upside down and airborne, as though mid-flip, looked back at her. It was her design. She couldn’t believe it. Four pairs of dog shoes sat underneath, also Flippin’ Dog brand, and also welcome finds. At the bottom of Lucy’s backpack, Carli saw a pair of yellow dog slickers. Flippin’ Dog had decided against rainwear. Had decided to market fall and winter wear exclusively. She had never fully bought into the omission of rain gear, but that was a client decision. The rain slickers were PetWorld brand. She lifted them from the bag and inspected them. They were sturdy. The fabric was breathable. And ... there was something visible in their snap-shut pockets. Seeing it nearly caused her to drop the first slicker as though she were holding a live snake. Carli unsnapped the pockets and carefully pulled out the first of three photographs. Suddenly, Lucy had a past.
“Of course. To keep them dry,” said Sister Anna. “I would have kept them in my own pocket, but Lucy … well, she was certainly unique.”
Carli spread the three photographs atop Sister Anna’s desk. Together, with the spotlight of a desk lamp, and taking turns with a magnifying glass, Carli and Sister Anna inspected them.
In the oldest, a long-roped swing hung from a tree, in front of a big Victorian home. With feet out straight, and head back, a young girl rose through the air, pushed by another girl, cut off, in part, by the picture’s ragged edge. An archway of roses, maybe red, but impossible to know from the black and white image, revealed a mid-summer scene.
Carli flipped it over to view smudged pencil lines bobbing through creases in the paper.
“It has an address,” she said. “Looks like Maple Lane, but it’s not clear. The house number on the door is Forty-Three.”
“Every town in America has a Maple Lane,” said Sister Anna. “Besides, we don’t know if these were Lucy’s or if she was just a collector.”
“Yes, but look ...” Carli flipped over the other photos.
“Uh-hum.” Sister Anna turned one of them back to the front side. According to the caption, she was face to face with “L and T” in nineteen forty-something. A man and woman, young, beautiful, and handsome, smiled back, surely married. She, in a dark Sunday dress with matching jacket and Sunday hat, and he, in a Sunday suit. Both had dark, well-coiffed hair, and she had high cheekbones and clip-on earrings, which painted elegance across her portrait. Sister Anna said, “L and T, huh?”
“This one is the jackpot. This couple near a lake.” Carli flipped the photo.
Sister Anna read out loud the pencil print description. “Lucy and Will. Nineteen seventy-five. Elmsville Fair.” She looked at Carli, with eyes alert.
Carli nodded and returned the photo image-side up. She had stayed up well past midnight the night before, searching for towns called Elmsville. There were at least sixteen on the East Coast. Aerial and street views narrowed her best bets to three. None of them looked quite right, but she was planning to visit the first one on her shortlist tomorrow.
“It does look a little like her,” said Sister Anna. She gave a pensive nod and said, “But so long ago.”
“I just want her off of Hart,” said Carli. “If this is her home, it’s where she belongs. Everyone deserves to go home.” Carli had considered claiming Lucy herself and paying for the homeless woman’s private burial. She stopped short when she considered someone else might try to find her. Some day.
Sister Anna nodded again. “Of course, but if you don’t find her home or family right away, Missing Persons might do well to have these. Maybe her bag as well.”
“I agree, but I have a feeling about this.”
Carli addressed the soup line with little attention to the details of serving. Lucy occupied every thought. Convinced that Grant would want Lucy returned to her real home, she approached him as soon as he arrived.
“Don’t be surprised if you don’t find anything,” he said. “Or if it’s not a happy homecoming. People have a way of moving on and forgetting. Remember that, but good luck.”
Carli watched him do his lunchtime rounds and heard his words many times over in her mind. Had he moved on as well? But, of course, her family would want her back. She certainly did.