So different from the ballet, but much more fitting to real life. Her current life.
She’d packed away her equipment, and then instead of a hot shower and a homemade veggie burrito —if her roommates hadn’t eaten all the ingredients —Macy ended up right here, parked across the street from a house she could in no way afford. Shouldn’t even want. But . . .
The porch light must have had a solar sensor because it blinked on in the deepening dusk, giving Macy a betterglimpse of the door —painted red. Hadn’t she read somewhere that a red door meant “welcome”? Maybe even happiness . . . protection? She wasn’t sure. Nonni’s door wasn’t red, but her house had been the most welcoming, happy, and protected place Macy had ever known. And it was the first time she’d been given a key to someplace she lived. Been trusted with that.
Macy closed her eyes for a moment. There had always been tricycles on the patchy lawn, stepping stones cluttered with leaves in every season, and Nonni’s battered Wipe Your Paws doormat, stenciled with dog prints. Three steps to the porch. The tarnished brass door handle felt cool under her fingers, the latch worn shiny-like-new by the fingers of countless foster kids. There was a soft click when she pressed it down, a small and miraculous signal that always brought Nonni. She could count on that. The same way there would be the scent of oatmeal cookies or maybe shortbread and the sounds of praise music filling the hallway, and Nonni’s voice . . . “Welcome home, Macy girl.”
She wondered now, as she had so many times before, if Nonni’s door handle set would fit this door. Then reached into her gym bag and pulled it out: heavy, still tarnished, the lever not so kid-shiny anymore. It had been wrapped in an old kitchen towel for more than a decade. Since the night Macy broke a window in Nonni’s vacant house, held a flashlight between her teeth, unscrewed the door set, and took it away. Stole it, people would say. But it hadn’t felt that way at the time, in the painful mix of grief and anger that followed her foster mother’s death. Macy had imagined standing on the porch, lifting a fist, and boldly telling thebank that they couldn’t take the house because she had a key. Because it was the only real home she’d ever known. She’d imagined all that and, in the end, simply stolen the door hardware in the darkness.
She ran her thumb over the lever, heard the familiar click. Did Leah remember this the way she did? Macy had meant to ask her.
Macy’s phone rang, startling her. Taylor.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.
“No.” You just caught me with stolen goods. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“I’ve been at the gym. What’s going on?”
“Another sniper attack, they’re saying —this time he shot a police dog.”
15
“F OUR NEWS VANS,” T AYLOR REPORTED, peering through the Starbucks window toward the veterinary hospital across the street. “Almost as many as there are patrol cars now. Titus is making national news. I wish it was for a happier reason. Like an amazing litter of puppies.”
“Puppies?” Seth peered at her through the steam rising from his Bold Pick of the Day. “The tabloids would chopper in for that one. Our heroic K-9 is a male.” His expression sobered. “I’m afraid the odds aren’t good that Titus will survive this second surgery.”
“I hate the thought of that. It’s tough just watching our golden retriever getting old and slow.” Greg’s dog, outliving him. “I can’t imagine losing a pet that way.”
“Bad enough without imagining what could have happened with all those kids at the grammar school.”
Taylor winced. The incident had shaken the whole community. A K-9 officer making a goodwill school visit. Shots ringing out as he walked the veteran German shepherd toward the building. Though the officer had been unharmed, his dog was seriously injured with wounds to
She’d packed away her equipment, and then instead of a hot shower and a homemade veggie burrito —if her roommates hadn’t eaten all the ingredients —Macy ended up right here, parked across the street from a house she could in no way afford. Shouldn’t even want. But . . .
The porch light must have had a solar sensor because it blinked on in the deepening dusk, giving Macy a betterglimpse of the door —painted red. Hadn’t she read somewhere that a red door meant “welcome”? Maybe even happiness . . . protection? She wasn’t sure. Nonni’s door wasn’t red, but her house had been the most welcoming, happy, and protected place Macy had ever known. And it was the first time she’d been given a key to someplace she lived. Been trusted with that.
Macy closed her eyes for a moment. There had always been tricycles on the patchy lawn, stepping stones cluttered with leaves in every season, and Nonni’s battered Wipe Your Paws doormat, stenciled with dog prints. Three steps to the porch. The tarnished brass door handle felt cool under her fingers, the latch worn shiny-like-new by the fingers of countless foster kids. There was a soft click when she pressed it down, a small and miraculous signal that always brought Nonni. She could count on that. The same way there would be the scent of oatmeal cookies or maybe shortbread and the sounds of praise music filling the hallway, and Nonni’s voice . . . “Welcome home, Macy girl.”
She wondered now, as she had so many times before, if Nonni’s door handle set would fit this door. Then reached into her gym bag and pulled it out: heavy, still tarnished, the lever not so kid-shiny anymore. It had been wrapped in an old kitchen towel for more than a decade. Since the night Macy broke a window in Nonni’s vacant house, held a flashlight between her teeth, unscrewed the door set, and took it away. Stole it, people would say. But it hadn’t felt that way at the time, in the painful mix of grief and anger that followed her foster mother’s death. Macy had imagined standing on the porch, lifting a fist, and boldly telling thebank that they couldn’t take the house because she had a key. Because it was the only real home she’d ever known. She’d imagined all that and, in the end, simply stolen the door hardware in the darkness.
She ran her thumb over the lever, heard the familiar click. Did Leah remember this the way she did? Macy had meant to ask her.
Macy’s phone rang, startling her. Taylor.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.
“No.” You just caught me with stolen goods. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“I’ve been at the gym. What’s going on?”
“Another sniper attack, they’re saying —this time he shot a police dog.”
15
“F OUR NEWS VANS,” T AYLOR REPORTED, peering through the Starbucks window toward the veterinary hospital across the street. “Almost as many as there are patrol cars now. Titus is making national news. I wish it was for a happier reason. Like an amazing litter of puppies.”
“Puppies?” Seth peered at her through the steam rising from his Bold Pick of the Day. “The tabloids would chopper in for that one. Our heroic K-9 is a male.” His expression sobered. “I’m afraid the odds aren’t good that Titus will survive this second surgery.”
“I hate the thought of that. It’s tough just watching our golden retriever getting old and slow.” Greg’s dog, outliving him. “I can’t imagine losing a pet that way.”
“Bad enough without imagining what could have happened with all those kids at the grammar school.”
Taylor winced. The incident had shaken the whole community. A K-9 officer making a goodwill school visit. Shots ringing out as he walked the veteran German shepherd toward the building. Though the officer had been unharmed, his dog was seriously injured with wounds to
Similar Books
