Sealing It Up

Dewey determined that he could seal up the entrances to their attic office, and he could prevent mice from entering through the ducts or the kitchen. All the cracks, holes, and openings had to be sealed with cement, metal, or caulk. But most importantly, the cookies, and the ingredients Clara baked them with, needed to be stored in sturdy closed containers.

Okay, thought Dewey. Doable.

“I need a couple days, Clara. I’m going to make sure the office is 100% sealed up and mouse-proof, so you don’t have to worry,” Dewey declared to Clara on Facetime.

Clara was touched. She usually handled the office and facilities.

“Thank you, sir,” she blushed, though Dewey couldn’t see the pink rise to her cheeks because she hadn’t turned on her camera. “I don’t know why I dislike them so. I always have, though.”

“No worries, Clara. I got this,” Dewey assured her.

“How are things going with Mr. Frenchie?”

“He’s coming by again soon, actually. I have a lot to catch you up on! Can I see Wolfie?”

Clara turned on her camera and picked Wolfie up onto the couch.

“Wolfie? Hey, Buddy!”

Wolfie looked around the room and out the window, totally baffled. He knew the sound of Dewey’s voice and kept looking around for him.

He jumped down and waited at the door.

“No, Wolfie. I’m here, on the computer! Come here!”

Wolfie’s ears went up at the sound of Dewey’s voice, but he quickly got bored and left the room.

“Sorry, sir.”

Dewey laughed. “That’s okay. But I need to get you guys back here. This is terrible! Oh, I think I hear Bryan coming. I’d better go.”

“Okay, Boss.”

“We’d better get you back here soon,” Dewey repeated.

🐁

Bryan recounted all that had occurred, starting with how he’d done his best to befriend Mrs. Décorder, but he had not been overly successful.

“Maybe,” suggested Dewey, “we’re not going about this the right way. I mean, let’s face it. She’s definitely a challenge, but you’re kind of part of the problem.”

Bryan’s mouth opened to object, but before he could get the words out, Dewey shoved a chocolate crinkle cookie into it.

Thankfully, Dewey remembered this time to defrost from Clara’s still solid supply of frozen cookies. Dewey had no intention of working his way through them all before he got her back.

“So let’s just say,” Dewey continued, “that Mrs. Décorder, with all her eccentric ways, came to me as a Student Problem Solver and asked me to help her with you. I think I’d tell her to fight fire with fire.”

Dewey had caught Bryan’s interest now. “Go on,” he encouraged as he swallowed.

“You’re just going to have to help her to help you. Go accept responsibility for what you did, but at the same time, you gotta do something to get kids to think she’s more fun and isn’t just so . . . I don’t know, whatever it is that she is.”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try it, I guess. But how? I don’t totally get it.”

“Well, it’s like this. What if you helped her get the class to at least appreciate her more by, um . . . let me think . . . I know, have her tell you guys to film yourselves dropping your books, and then filter it, say, as a backwards loop.”

“I don’t get it,” Bryan said again.

“Well, it would be funny, but it would be like her way of making you guys ‘take it back.’ See?”

“Oh. Yeah. I do see. ’Cause it’s in reverse. Haha! That’s funny. But why, again?”

“You take responsibility for what you did, but you show her how to be more hip about it, so you don’t get in trouble, and kids like her better. See?”

“Oh!”

After Bryan headed back out, Dewey walked the perimeter of the office looking for the mouse. He had not been in the attic for a few days, and it felt nice to be back but strangely quiet without Clara and Wolfie.

As he walked along the edge of the walls, he took notes and pictures of any places that looked like they might need sealing up. The attic spanned about 500 square feet, more than enough space for their needs. Medium-tone hardwood covered sound-insulated floors, in addition to a large area rug they’d selected to throw on top, reasoning that it would make sitting on their big floor pillows more comfortable and keep their activity around the office more quiet. They’d selected a shag, ivory carpet that looked like lamb’s wool and had a deep, soft thickness underneath their client’s fingers and toes.

The walls—also cream—brightened up the space where natural light came in through some long rectangular windows that lined the ceilings above. In the middle of the big room sat Dewey’s freestanding desk with his computer, placed so that he faced the large, lime-green pillows where his clients sat. Clara had her own small desk built into the wall, though she rarely sat at it while they worked together. More often, Dewey and his clients would find her in her kitchen alcove baking cookies or standing alongside Dewey and his clients with a plate of cookies.

The main room looked well-sealed to Dewey, but the air conditioning ducts had surely been the issue, he reasoned. Still, he’d go check out the kitchen area first then head up into the air ducts where the clients came in and out.

Clara’s kitchen nestled in the corner of the attic, separated from the rest of the room by a sheer panel that allowed the light to pass through. It made not only for a separate space for her to bake, but the panel provided a full-sized screen for them to project images or watch movies on when they had time. Watching movies together was how he and Clara had spent their earliest days when she used to babysit him. These days, though, they would be lucky to slip in even a “Funniest Pets” clip on YouTube. Dewey decided now would be a good time for a little pet levity and loaded one up.

“Let’s see,” Dewey searched around looking for some Havanese puppies. It didn’t matter what they did, they were adorable little fluffballs of fur. Dewey smiled. He loaded another “Funniest Pets” and watched a cat chase a small grey mouse endlessly around a car tire like on a hamster wheel and laughed. “Maybe that’s all we need. A cat!” he smiled.

Next came a cat trying to catch a fish on an iPad. “Dumb cat!” Oh! thought Dewey. Keyboard Cat! He loaded the link and the electronic keyboard began, electronic drum kit and piano merging as that earnest orange marmalade cat in blue scrubs dug into the ivories. It didn’t matter how many times he watched that cat, it made him laugh. He knew he should get back to work, but YouTube put as Up Next “Goat Scream Music.” Nothing made Dewey and Colin laugh harder than those goats bleating between the verses of the artist belting it out. He couldn’t resist.

How he’d gotten so quickly from fluffy Havanese puppy’s trying to hop up onto a lawn chair to goats butting into Taylor Swift’s musical anthem was anybody’s guess, but he needed to get back to Clara and Wolfie, so he turned off the videos and walked around to the other side of the screen.

There was a large, white wooden island in the middle of the partitioned space, with grey and white marble top. Above it, on what looked like a ship’s anchor, hung a collection of copper pots and pans. Since almost all Clara did in that kitchen occurred on one or two baking sheets, Dewey figured they mostly served as decoration. She had a small, old-fashioned, white refrigerator and built-in shelves. On the right side was a big porcelain farm sink below a round window. He often wondered how it was that Clara had never been seen in the kitchen from the outside, but then he’d remember her short stature, and didn’t give it a second thought. The few times he’d been in the kitchen corner, he’d pulled the blinds down. The kitchen had the same wooden floor as the rest of the space, a white oven, and a big hooded pipe to carry the fumes out.

Dewey took pictures of the flour and sugar bags on the counter that needed to be sealed up in mouse-proof containers but found nothing else amiss. He left Clara’s domain and strode back out to the Gator lift to see about the biggest task ahead—sealing up the ducts.

What he discovered, though, wasn’t as problematic as he’d feared. They already had a door that had to be opened to get into the ducts, and it turned out to be well sealed. He just needed to make sure it would close by itself in case a client forgot. Leaving cookies along the way in the ducts had been part of their signature service, and Clara reasoned they’d help distract any claustrophobics. Dewey made a note that they needed to rethink this tactic.

Lastly, he needed to walk the outside perimeter of the office (which really was just his home). It hadn’t rained in quite some time, and the ground felt hard and dry beneath his feet. October was always one of the hottest months in California. Summer days, often cool with morning mist and overcast skies, gave way to more sunny days come fall, with highs in the 80s and 90s. California children picked out their pumpkins in shorts with swimsuits beneath their clothes. Today, a crisp autumn breeze brushed against Dewey’s face, and the air left small goosebumps against his bare arms. Dewey might even need to go grab a sweatshirt. The outer walls were secured and sealed. His parents had seen to that.

At last, his feet ached and he yawned. He’d examined every nook and cranny—covered all his bases. He looked at his phone. Since yesterday, three more DMs had come into the business account that no one had reviewed. He needed to get Clara back.