It starts first thing in the morning. How am I supposed to sleep with her vacuuming right outside my bedroom door? I cover my head with my pillow. The next thing I know, she’s yanking my blankets off.
“Come on, Lucy. It’s time to get up. I’ve got plans today.”
I try to pull the blankets back up. “Who cares?” I’m still sleepy. “It’s hard on a kid when parents fight all night, you know.”
“It’s been eleven hours since anyone said a word in this house,” she says. “Get up. I want to get these sheets in the wash.”
I swing my feet over the side of the bed and she kicks my slippers toward me. She’s already pulling at my sheets, and if I don’t get off the bed, she’ll probably pull me onto the floor when she gives them that final tug.
I get up and start for the door.
“Take these down to the laundry room,” she says.
“Why should I have to do everything just because you’re in a bad mood?”
“You think I’m in a bad mood? You’ve seen nothing! Don’t give me any more grief or I’ll show you what a bad mood really looks like.” She flings the sheets at me. “Take your laundry basket too.”
If looks could kill, my mother would be dead; I am so mad at her. But she doesn’t even see me. She’s busy making up my bed with clean sheets.
I stomp downstairs and throw the laundry basket onto the floor next to the washer. It tips onto its side and some of the clothes spill out. I don’t care.
I head for the kitchen. There’s absolutely no sign of breakfast. The coffeepot is empty, the toaster’s been put away, and I notice there are places on the floor that are still wet from mopping. She’s cleaned up the kitchen without even thinking about me or the fact that I just might want something to eat. The weekend paper is on the table, so I grab the Life section, which is my favorite one. I can hear my mom vacuuming again. I wish she’d hurry up.
She doesn’t usually stay mad so long. Grandma always tells Dad and me just to ignore Mom’s bad moods. Usually that works fine. She gets over them and everything goes back to normal until the next time something sets her off.
I hear the thump of the vacuum as she pulls it down a step or two on the stairs. It would be easier for her if we had a built-in system. They are much quieter, so she could vacuum without waking me up. Her birthday is coming up in a couple of months. I’ll talk to Dad about it.
I wander out to the hall and watch as she finishes the stairs and hauls our old canister vacuum to the closet in the laundry room.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He took the van in for servicing.”
“What’s for breakfast?”
“I had half a bagel with peanut butter,” she says.
“But what am I supposed to have?”
“You can have the other half, if you want.”
She’s not really paying attention to me. She’s started sorting laundry as if I’m not even there.
“But I don’t want a bagel.”
“Well, go find something you do want then.”
“Aren’t you going to fix anything for me?”
She stops what she’s doing and turns to face me. “What is it you’d like?”
“Just cereal. Oh, and maybe some juice.”
“Do you know where the cereal is?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think you could be very grown up and pour some in a bowl for yourself?”
I’m about to tell her I don’t appreciate her sarcasm when the phone rings.
“I bet that’s Grandma,” I say. “She’s probably wondering if you ever did come home.”
“I phoned your grandma last night. I don’t think she’ll be calling back any time real soon.”
Mom walks into the kitchen and grabs the phone. I can tell almost as soon as she picks it up that it’s Gina. Mom always sounds different when she talks to Gina. For one thing, she starts complaining right away, saying that she can’t wait to get out of this house.
Mom met Gina at her pilates class. It was before Christmas, maybe four months ago. Since then, they’ve been seeing way too much of each other. I listen to Mom’s side of the conversation. It sounds like the “plans” that were her excuse for waking me from a sound sleep involve going somewhere with Gina. Why am I not surprised?
“Where are you going? Can I come?” I ask as soon as she hangs up.
“If you don’t even know where I’m going, what makes you think you’d want to come?”
“Well, I might.”
“Well, you can’t. It wouldn’t be interesting for you. Gina and I are just going to drive around to some stores to see if we can find some packing boxes for her.”
“She’s moving?”
Maybe this is good news, even if I can’t go with them.
“Yes, she’s selling her apartment and moving in with Ian.”
“But they aren’t married!”
“Get used to it. It’s called the real world.”
“Grandma would have a heart attack if she heard you say that!”
“She didn’t hear me say that, did she? So if you don’t go tattling, she should live.”
No one listening to my mom talk like this would ever guess that she works at Cenacle Heights Convent. You’d think that with her spending so much time with all those holy old nuns, some of the good influence would rub off on her. It probably would if she wasn’t hanging around with Gina and picking up all these bad attitudes.
Gina is even older than my mom, but the trouble with her is that she has no responsibilities. She must have a job of some kind, but after work, all she does is go to pilates classes and go out for coffee. On weekends, she goes to clubs and parties. I know this because once Gina showed Mom and me some pictures and there was one of her and Ian at a nightclub. She had on this low-cut red dress that showed way more of her boobs than was proper, and she was sitting on Ian’s lap. If Grandma had seen it, she’d have said Gina looked like a floozy. My mother’s not that type at all. Until she met Gina, she used to spend all her evenings at home with me and Dad. She reads a lot. We all do.
Mom and I are still standing there by the phone when I hear my dad let himself in the door that comes from the garage.
“Kate,” he calls. “I need your car keys.”
“Why?”
“I’m taking your car in for servicing.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d made an appointment.”
“Didn’t I? It must have slipped my mind.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I’ll take the van. We can use the extra room. I’m helping Gina find moving boxes.”
“I left the van at the shop.”
“How did you get home?”
“One of the boys who works at the mechanic’s gave me a lift.”
“So you’re telling me both vehicles will be at the service station all morning?”
She’s not yelling or anything, but her lips are tight and thin.
“That’s how I planned it, yeah. It’s more efficient to do them both at the same time. Otherwise I’m left hanging around down there for two mornings.”
“Wonderful!” Mom says. “And of course you never considered the possibility that I might have plans of my own?”
“Well, you don’t usually go anywhere Saturday mornings,” he says. “You didn’t mention going out …”
“Mom,” I interrupt him, “Why can’t you just use Gina’s car?”
“Thank you so much for that suggestion, Lucy. Why didn’t I think of that?”
I don’t know why she didn’t – probably because she was looking for some excuse to start another fight.
She digs around in her purse. When she finds her keys, she flings them at Dad and storms off. She takes the phone with her.
I follow her upstairs. She goes into her room but doesn’t close the door. She leans against the dresser and punches in a number. I just stand there in the doorway, watching her.
“Gina, you’re going to have to come and get me. I’m not allowed to have my car today.” She’s quiet for a minute and then she says, “You can leave her here with Lucy.”
I’m startled. I come into the room and start waving my arms around. Excuse me! Who’s she leaving with me? Don’t I even get consulted? I don’t want to stay here with a total stranger. I’m not the kind of person who makes friends easily.
“Sure,” she says. “See you in half an hour then.” She hangs up.
I’m bursting. “Who are you leaving with me?”
“Lucy,” she answers.
This makes no sense.
“Lucy is Gina’s dog. You’ll like her.”
“Gina named her dog Lucy?”
“Yes, funny coincidence, isn’t it?”
“What sort of a name is that for a dog?”
“I don’t think it’s that unusual,” she says.
“But Lucy’s a people name. Dogs should have dog names like Fido, or Buster, or Rover, or King … There are lots of good dog names.”
“Those are all names for male dogs. Lucy’s a female.”
My mind goes blank. I can’t think of any girl dog names. “But Dad’s at the garage. I thought you’d drop me off at Grandma’s. I don’t want to be all alone here.”
“You won’t be. Lucy will keep you company.”
“But I don’t know anything about dogs.”
“What’s to know? She’ll probably sleep most of the time. A bunch of realtors are going through Gina’s apartment today, and she’s afraid that having all those strangers there will upset Lucy.”
“Why don’t you take her with you?”
“If she’s left alone in the car, she chews things.”
“If you leave her here, I’ll be the thing she chews. Dogs hate me. I told you about how that one in the house at the end of the cul-de-sac attacked me. I can’t even go down to that end of the street now.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve never been bitten by a dog.”
“No, but he tried. He barked like he’d lost his mind, and then he slammed into the fence so hard that I thought it would break and he’d come right through it.”
“Sounds very dramatic,” Mom says. “That would be that high fence with the solid panels, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“So you didn’t actually see the dog.”
“No, but …”
“Anyway, you don’t have to worry about Lucy crashing through any fences. She’s just a wee bit of a thing. Trust me. You two will get along fine.”
I’m not convinced. I’m still worrying about it when the doorbell rings and Gina walks in without waiting for anyone to answer. She does this all the time. She just barges in like she owns the place. But today I have more to be concerned about than her bad manners.
I’m looking at her dog. I thought it would be something like a poodle or one of those little mop dogs. It’s not.
She has long, soft, reddish-blonde-colored fur that parts in the middle of her back and sweeps down her sides, straight as can be. It’s layered a bit toward the ends. It looks more like human hair than like fur. As a matter of fact, it looks just like my hair. Mine is the same color and it’s parted in the middle too. My hair’s so fine and straight that hairdressers always layer the ends to give it a bit of a lift. The dog is small like my mom said, but she’s slimmer than I was expecting. I’m small too, and on the skinny side.
I look closely at her. She has fine features and eyes that are almost too big for her face. That’s what they say about me too. Her eyes are brown. Mine are hazel. If she were human, we could be sisters.
“What kind of dog is that?” I ask.
“She’s a silky terrier,” says Gina.
“How old is she?”
“Five-and-a-half.”
“Years?”
“Yes, years.”
“Did you get her when she was a pup?” Gina nods. “When she was just eight weeks old.”
“And did you name her Lucy right away?”
“No, I called her George at first. It wasn’t till after the sex change that I named her Lucy. Of course I called her Lucy right away!” She’s looking at me like I’m totally weird.
I guess I am sounding a bit strange. The thing that gets me, though, is that Lucy looks so much like me. I can’t help feeling suspicious. It would be just like Gina to name her dog after me as some kind of a joke.
My mom grabs her jacket from the closet. She stoops down and pats the dog. “See, Lucy? Isn’t she a darling little thing?”
This could get very confusing.
Gina is looking from her Lucy to me and back again. She starts to laugh. I give her my maddest look. It doesn’t stop her.
“Look, Kate, your Lucy and my Lucy look like twins.”
My mother sees my face and doesn’t say anything.
I am totally insulted. Who wants to look just like a dog, even if she is kind of a cute dog?
“She had a poo about an hour ago,” says Gina, “so she probably won’t go again, but here are a couple of baggies, just in case.”
She’s got to be joking. There’s no way I am picking up dog poop. And pooing is not what you’d call a polite topic of conversation. Does she think the whole world wants to know about her dog’s bathroom habits? Then suddenly it hits me. Maybe I do need to know just a bit more.
“She won’t go in the house, will she?”
“Oh no, she’s a good girl,” Gina says as she pushes the leash and plastic bags at me.
I take them to be polite. I won’t be using them. There’s no way I am taking this dog outside.