Wish by Barbara O'Connor

someone who spent her days outdoors. Arms tan and leathery. Dirt under her fingernails.
    â€œWishbone is gone,” I whispered.
    She nodded and pushed a strand of wispy hair behind her ear. “Gus is out there looking for him,” she said. “And Gus is a man you can count on.”
    A teeny-tiny glimmer of feel-better worked its way into my heart. I knew she was right about that. Gus did seem like a man you could count on.
    â€œBut what if Wishbone wants to be a stray again?” I asked.
    Bertha sat up straight and took my chin in her hand. “Charlie Reese,” she said. “You think that dog don’t know a good thing when he sees one?”
    â€œWhat good thing?” I said in my pouty baby voice.
    She held up a finger each time she counted off. “One, he eats bologna for breakfast. Two, he sleeps on a pillow. And three, he is loved by an angel.”
    Angel?
    Ha!
    So here’s where I had to go and ruin that image of me as an angel. “I said something mean to Howard,” I muttered.
    Silence.
    Why had I gone and told her that? I wished I could take those words back. Gather them up like butterflies in a net. Stay an angel in her eyes.
    And then I got this bad thought. What if Bertha was wrong about dogs loving you no matter what? What if Wishbone knows I’m mean and that’s why he ran off?
    I could feel Bertha’s warm skin against mine. Hear her soft breathing in the stillness of that little room. Finally she slapped a hand on my knee and said, “You need some grits.”
    *   *   *
    As soon as I woke up the next day, I looked down at the pillow on the floor and more than anything I wanted Wishbone to be there.
    He wasn’t.
    I hurried into the kitchen. Bertha was shelling peas at the table.
    â€œWhere’s Gus?” I asked.
    â€œHe went to work.”
    I sank into the chair across from her. “I guess he didn’t find Wishbone,” I said.
    She looked at me all sad-eyed and shook her head. “No, he didn’t. But he said to tell you we can get out there and look when he gets home. He set up that trap of yours last night and I put some scraps in it, so we can keep an eye on that. And don’t forget Wishbone has a tag on his collar. I’m sure somebody will call us when they find him.” She pushed a box of cereal toward me. “Eat some breakfast.”
    But how could I eat with my stomach all balled up like it was? And then there was my other problem. Howard. What was I going to do about Howard?
    Guilt was gnawing at my insides as I watched Bertha shelling those peas. Every now and then, she glanced up at me, and when she did, I had to look away real quick. There she was over there on the other side of the table thinking I was an angel, and here I was on my side feeling about as far from an angel as anybody could be.
    â€œAren’t you going to ask me what mean thing I said to Howard?” I asked her.
    She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
    â€œHow come?”
    She tossed a handful of peas into the bowl and leaned toward me. “Charlie,” she said. “You can’t judge people for the mistakes they make. You judge them for how they fix those mistakes.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “Besides, you think I haven’t ever said a word or two I wanted to snatch back?” She winked. “Just ask Gus if you don’t believe me.”
    It was for sure Bertha had said a lot of words in her life, seeing as how she was such a talker. But I was pretty sure none of those words were mean, like mine. Mean and Bertha did not go together.
    â€œNow why don’t you get dressed and we’ll figure out what to do about Wishbone,” she said.
    But before I could even think about how to start this sorry day, someone knocked on the front screen door, and imagine my surprise when I saw who it was. Howard!
    I stood there barefoot in my pajamas with my hair a