Illustration by Laurie Lail
Laurie
Lail
Misty
walks the dog to the bench and sits down. There are lover’s names and
proclamations etched into the wooden slats. Misty likes to sit in between “Eric
loves Katie” and “Tony and Brook Forever.” She wonders were these lovers are
today. Did they curl up in each other’s arm last night, or look over divorce
papers?
Misty
ran an advertisement for dog walking a couple of weeks after she had graduated
from high school. One dog had swiftly led to another. Now she had seven dogs,
Monday through Friday. She looks at the English bulldog that has parked himself
at her feet, leaning against her shins. Misty scratches the bulldog’s small
ears. “How’s that Bowser? Who’s a big boy?” He is always the first dog she
walks, as it had been from the start.
On
their first meeting, Bowser’s owner, Mrs. Harris, had given Misty strict orders
for the dog as she looked in the foyer mirror and ran her fingers through her
short gray hair.
“Now,
Misty, Bowser cannot be walked in the heat of the day nor can he be walked with
other dogs; the short legs of his breed will not allow him to keep that pace.”
Mrs. Harris leaned on the little table below the mirror and wrote out a check.
“That’s why I pay extra. I want him walked early, and I want him to stop
halfway to rest and take a drink. Please be sure to always remember his bag and
to fill his thermos full of cool water.”
Misty
had smiled and nodded, and Mrs. Harris had handed Misty the check and said, “I
don’t mind paying for what I want, so long as I get what I want.”
Misty
had given her a serious look. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.
I’m a busy woman. I need to know Bowser is being looked after.” Mrs. Harris had
put her checkbook back in her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She had looked
back to the mirror and began meticulously applying the red cream.
The
small table held two framed photographs: one was Bowser, and the other was Mrs.
Harris with her arm around the shoulders of a young woman; both were smiling.
Misty had picked up the photograph of the young woman and Mrs. Harris, and had asked,
“Is this your daughter?”
“My
niece, I don’t have any children.”
“You
have Bowser,” Misty had chirped, and Mrs. Harris finally gave Misty a slight
smile. Misty had wondered if Mrs. Harris would hire someone to watch her, while
she watched Bowser.
Misty
opens Bowser’s bag as he stares up at her panting and unscrews the bowl from
the top of his thermos. She sets the lid on the ground and fills it with water.
She looks out over the park and tells the dog, “It’s the best park in town;
it’s like a forest. You’re lucky, Bowser. The little park near where I live
only has two trees and a gravel parking lot. It’s nothing like this park.”
The
park near Misty’s apartment is where she’d met Tick. She was studying at the
park’s only picnic table. Tick had walked over and said, “Are you memorizing
that book?”
“I
have a test tomorrow.”
“Well,
good luck. I’m in school at the Technical College here in town.”
“I’m
at Laurence, it’s a beauty school.”
“What
are you teaching them?”
Misty
offered Tick her smile. “I’m learning to cut hair. I only have another year.”
Tick
had told Misty that he recognized her and that he lived in the apartment below
her. When Tick came up to introduce himself to Misty’s mother, her mother had
said, “Now I know your mama didn’t name you Tick.”
“No,
ma’am, my name is John Mathews, I got the nickname ‘cause they had to pull me
from my mama kicking and screaming the first two weeks of kindergarten. My
daddy said it was just like pulling off a tick; it’s just my luck the name
stuck.”
Tick
had begun to bring up burgers from the restaurant where he worked between his
shifts on Saturday afternoons, and Misty would give him a hair cut in exchange.
He had told Misty and her mother about his plans. “I’m studying auto mechanics,
but I might switch and study to be a plumber.”
Misty’s
mother had unwrapped her burger and said, “You ought to do it, Tick. Plumbers
make good money. I told Misty she should work hard to get her own salon. If two
kids like y’all was to marry and join forces, you could own a couple of cars
and a house and who knows what.”
Misty’s
mother had liked Tick right away and was always trying to push them together.
Misty knew Tick wanted that too. She’d known ever since he’d bought a bracelet
with a smooth blue bird charm and brought it to her one Saturday along with the
burgers.
He’d
awkwardly pulled it from his pocket and said, “It ain’t much. Some folks that
are trying to raise money for a bird sanctuary came into the restaurant today
sell’in ‘em. They had all kinds, but this one made me think of you.”
Misty’s
mother cooed “Oooh,” and clasped the bracelet around Misty’s wrist. She’d said,
“Well, it’s a little bird; huh Tick?”
“Yes,
ma’am, it’s a bluebird. The guy that sold it to me said they mate up for life.
I don’t know. I just thought it was the prettiest one.”
Misty
had looked bluebirds up on the computer at school and Tick was right; blue
birds pair bond, and the male helps the female build the nest and raise the
brood.
Misty
had been a little uncomfortable accepting Tick’s gift. She thought Tick was
handsome enough, and he was thoughtful, but when she was cutting his hair, she
would tell him about some of the places she had read about and wanted to visit,
and he never asked her questions about them. He would laugh and say, “You and
your ideas. Misty if you’d been born with wings, I’d have never known you.”
Misty
presses her back into the bench and stretches. She and Bowser always stop here
for his break. It’s her favorite spot. It sits on a hill and is shaded all day
long. It looks down on the cobblestone bridge where people cross the creek from
one side of the park to the other. She pours more water into the plastic bowl
and watches the dog scoot the bowl around until he’s lapped up every drop. He
lifts up his stocky body and rests his wet, dripping chin against her knees,
begging for a scratch. She grabs the sides of his face and rubs her fingertips
into the wrinkles of his panting smile.
Misty
leans back and rubs up and down on the dog’s belly with her foot. “Do you know
you’ve got it made, buddy boy?” She pictures of the two-story home where Bowser
lives, with the lovely landscaped yard. She thinks they are just like the ones
you see in House Beautiful.
Bowser has his own little play area in the back yard between a row of laurel
shrubs and a picket fence. It’s full of toys and has a little doggie gym in the
shade of an oak tree with a small deck and a rope for him to tug on. Inside his
brick home, Bowser has heavy, ceramic water and food bowls raised to suit his
height, and he has several fleece beds scattered throughout the house.
She
looks out over the wooded park. The tree trunks are splattered with the morning
sun. She wonders if all the mothers will show up today with their big bags and
loaded down strollers. She usually sees them crossing the bridge about the same
time she’s finishing up with two German shorthaired pointers, Morticia and
Gomez.
She likes to take her lunch break at one of
the picnic tables by the playground. She pretends to read her textbook while
watching the mothers with their babies. Whenever the women look at their
playing children, their faces become childish too. They crinkle their noses or
widen their eyes while their lips make an “Oh” shape as they scurry after their
toddlers. She especially likes to watch Elizabeth with little Gwendolyn, who
Elizabeth calls ladybug.
Ladybug
has black eyes, olive skin and dark curls cover her head; she looks nothing
like the blue-eyed, blond Elizabeth. At first, Misty thought Ladybug must be
the spitting image of her father, but after eavesdropping on the mothers, she’d
learned that Ladybug is adopted.
Misty
screws the bowl back on the thermos and puts it in Bowser’s bag. She stands and
puts her backpack straps over her shoulders. She and Bowser head down the hill
and step onto the bridge. A crow makes a fuss. Misty searches the trees until
she finds it. It scolds again. Misty thinks of her mother; she’d finally told
her the news yesterday. Her mother’s sobs had been inevitable.
“You’re Pregnant! Who the hell’s is it? Jackson’s? I hope
you’re not pretending that he’s going to take care of you and this’ll be all
right. He’ll be just like your daddy, just like him! You listen to me,
Misty—and God knows I know it—you get rid of it while you can. It ain’t nobody
yet, and you’ll never be nobody if you keep it.”
Her
mother had then taken a clasp from a kitchen drawer, pulled her hair back,
popped a can of Coke and sat at the table. She had said her piece, and that was
that. Misty sat across from her mother and let her take a couple of sips before
she spoke again. “I knew how you’d take it. I was afraid to tell you.”
“Well,
this ain’t the best news, is it? Hell yeah, I’m floored. You just need to do
what I said.”
Misty’s
mother placed her fists at her temples and rested her head on them, looking
down at her Coke.
Misty
sat leaning over with her elbows that rested on her knees, rubbing the bluebird
charm between her thumb and fingers. She looked across the table at her mother,
swallowed hard and said, “The thing is, Mama, I’m pretty sure I’m too far along
now.”
Her
mother had slowly looked up from her Coke, and when her eyes met Misty’s, she
began to cry. “Damn it, Misty, you was supposed to learn from my mistakes. I
told you again and again how it was. Your daddy barely stayed round long enough
to get a good look at you. He
left me to handle everything—the work, the worry, the grief; my life was over.”
Misty
had heard that speech pass her mother’s lips so many times she could say it
with her if she’d wanted to. She never did. Hearing it always made the back of
her throat burn.
Misty
tugs at the leash, and stops Bowser’s modest pace. She feels nauseous. She
props herself against the bridge and leans her head back. She lets a breeze
wash over her face and lets her thoughts go to Elizabeth and Ladybug.
Misty
thinks of how Ladybug is always sparkling clean and dressed like she just
stepped off of a post card. Elizabeth always covers her face with kisses when
she pulls her from the stroller. The little girl is just beginning to walk, and
Elizabeth will say, “One step at a time, Ladybug,” as she sets her on her feet.
Then Elizabeth follows the child around, hunched over and holding her hands out
to either side of the little girl. When Ladybug bumped her head on the jungle
gym and began to wail, Elizabeth scooped her up in her arms, gently bouncing
her she said, “Oh, Ladybug, life is full of bumps, but Mama will always be
there.”
The
breeze stops and Misty thinks she might throw up. She turns her head and
catches another little breeze from the west. She lifts her hair so the air can
hit the back of her neck. She thinks of the time when she was nine and had been
up sick all night.
Her
mother had sat up with her and put cool damp towels on her head and called her
baby. The next morning her mother’s look had been worried and tired, and she’d
thrown a tantrum because the phone hadn’t been turned back on. “I paid that
damn bill two days ago.”
Her
mother had gone across the hall to their neighbor, Brenda’s, to use the phone.
When she’d come back, she had sat on the side of the bed, gently rubbing
Misty’s cheek.
“I want you
to sit up and take this Pepto. I made a scrambled egg. I want you to see if you
can eat it. I called work. That heartless bastard said I have to go in and
get’em through the lunch rush; then I can leave. I gave Brenda the extra key.
She’s going to come and check on you. Don’t open the door for nobody.”
Misty
had woken later that day when her mother had kissed her cheek. She’d smelled of
cigarettes and coffee, and she’d called Misty sleepy head. Her mother had
brought home a Sprite, a grilled cheese sandwich and chicken soup. She had sat
on the bed reading the horoscopes aloud while Misty ate.
“Listen
to mine, Misty. ‘You may feel overwhelmed at work, but taking time to enjoy a
loved one’s company will calm the storm and give you a new perspective.’”
Misty’s mother had offered a sly smile and said, “Well, I guess they get it
right sometimes.” And she’d winked.
Misty
had nibbled at the crust of her grilled cheese while her mother had told her
stories about her grandparents.
“Your
Grandmama was crazy ‘bout you from the get-go. She treated you like a little
doll. One time she propped you against the pillows on her bed and put blue eye
shadow on your little baby eyes, and then gave you some pink lip-gloss. She
must’ve known you were going to be a beauty. Then your Grandaddy used up a
whole roll of film taking your
picture. Once they got a good look at you, they forgot all about being mad at
me.”
Misty’s
mother had said they used to live with her grandparents, but Misty can barely
remember them. They had died in a car accident when she was two. Misty’s mother
keeps a snapshot of the two of them sitting at a kitchen table in front of an
screened door, picking through a large bowl of stringed beans. Her
grandfather’s face is slightly turned toward her grandmother; he’s saying
something as he pulls a bean from the bowl. Her grandmother is snapping a bean
with her head tilted slightly back and laughing. Misty’s mother had told her,
“They’d have been so proud of you and how good you are and the grades you make.
They’d have spoiled you rotten.”
Then
she and her mother had curled up on the sofa and watched old movies with two
guys named Abbot and Costello that were showing on a local channel. Her mother had
said, “I used to watch these with your granddaddy every Sunday afternoon,” and
she’d tucked the blanket tighter around Misty. It was one of her favorite
afternoons to remember. It was good and sweet, just like Elizabeth and Ladybug.
Misty
steps from the bridge pulling Bowser up the hill. She stops for a minute to sit
on the steps heading toward the ball fields to let her stomach settle. She rubs
the bulldog’s back. He pants and his tongue curls up over his nose. She looks
out over the playground. She pictures Elizabeth there with Ladybug; it makes
her feel something could go right. Misty had heard Elizabeth talking to another
mom yesterday.
“I
just love Clark for having the good sense to insist that I stay home while
she’s little, through elementary school, and I’ll only work half days in middle
and high school. I want to be there every day when she gets home.”
The
other mom nodded. “They’re only little once, and it’ll all go so fast.”
“Clark
and I want another one. He says to wait until she’s two, but it can take a
while to adopt. It took almost two years to get Gwendolyn, and I don’t want
them to be too far apart in age.” Elizabeth had giggled at Ladybug as the
little girl grunted, trying to push the stroller.”
Misty
lets her backpack slide off of her shoulders and onto the steps. She wonders
what Clark is like and if he’s a good father. She wonders what sort of work he
does. She wonders if he and Elizabeth are really in love or if anyone is really
in love. Misty thinks about what Tick had said.
Tick
had come up to the apartment and asked her to step into the hall. He had given
her a smile, shifting his weight slowly from one foot to the other and shifting
his glance from his shoes, to her, to the wall and back to his shoes. Finally
he kept his eyes on hers and asked her out to dinner. Misty had known this
moment was coming. She had made herself keep looking at him when she’d said,
“You know that guy you saw drop me off the other day? His name is Jackson; I’m
sort of dating him right now.”
Tick
had put his hands in his pockets and looked back at his shoes. He nodded his
head and asked, “So, you really like this guy?”
“I
do. I don’t know if we have the makings of a real romance. We’ve only been out on
a real date a few times.”
Tick
gave her a slight smile and said, “Love’s always a work in progress. My folks
got married when they was eighteen. Mama said they liked the looks of each
other when they married and thought they was in love, but that it took years
for them to really get there.”
Misty
pulls her backpack up on her shoulders and stands. She inhales a deep slow breath.
She drags Bowser toward the water fountain and takes a drink. Misty pushes up
from the water fountain and looks through an opening in a row of poplar trees.
She can see the ball field where she had met Jackson. She knew her mother was
right about Jackson.
She
had been walking Harley and Tinker. Jackson had been practicing shots with a
guy on his soccer team, and she’d waited for them to finish up so she could
play ball with the retrievers. When Jackson spotted her, he called it a day
with his teammate and trotted over to pet the dogs. He told her he owned a
golden retriever. “They’re great dogs.”
Misty
explained, “I’m a dog walker. I like dogs, but Mom and I can’t have’em where I
live, so I do this until I can have one of my own.”
Jackson
walked with her for an hour that day. The next morning he had been waiting for
her when she got off the bus. He talked her into having lunch with him at a
coffee house that was tucked into a row of shops on the other side of the park.
Jackson
started giving her rides to work and school, and he asked her to go to a couple
of his games. He called her Snaggle-Puss one night because one of her front
teeth turns in a little. When she acted hurt, Jackson had said, “I only said it
because I think it’s sexy.”
Jackson’s
parents kept a town house for out-of-town guests. Misty and Jackson stayed
there some nights. They would swim in the pool and watch movies. He’d wake her
up with a kiss and a cup of coffee. On her birthday he took her to dinner, and
they stayed at the Hyatt downtown. They had sat on the balcony drinking wine,
looking out at the lit buildings and the couples below walking and laughing on
their way to restaurants.
He’d
given her a book called Travel Tips for
Traveling the World for her birthday. He poured Misty a glass of wine, and
as she opened the gift he said, “I went to Egypt last Christmas. I saw the
Pyramids. They’re unbelievable. Really, they’re magnificent. It’s a wild place,
Giza, Cairo too, all those ancient cities along the Nile. You’ve got to go one
day.”
Jackson
told her about the old quaint little places in London he liked. He told her
about the month he’d spent in Spain. He pulled Misty to her feet, kissed her
neck and whispered, “Maybe we can get away to Costa Rica over Christmas. I’ll
see what my parents say.” She’d never met Jackson’s parents.
Misty
had forgotten her birth control that evening, but she made love to Jackson
anyway. She told herself it was a small risk for a big investment. The next
morning Misty had looked into the long elegant mirror of the hotel bathroom,
feeling like she was someone else. She ran her manicured nails through her
hair. Misty kept the length of her nails moderate, and painted them in muted
colors like the businesswomen who came to her school to save on manicures.
Misty
would talk to these women when she had the chance. She would find out their
names and jobs, and then write them down in a notebook labeled Future Clients along with a description
and anything personal she’d picked up. Some of them had begun to chat with
Misty every time they came in.
She
had finally told Jackson she was pregnant a month ago. It was the day before he
went back to college. He’d met her on the steps at the park while she was
walking Tinker and Harley to the field. At first, he just sat on the steps with
his face in his hands while the retrievers paced at his feet. Then he became
angry, “What the hell, Misty? What the fuck? Why didn’t you just go and get the
morning-after pill? Do you want to ruin our lives? You have to get rid of it.
My parents will freak. I can’t be a first year law student with a baby.” Tinker
began to whimper as Jackson barked at Misty. “I’m only twenty-two. You’re only
nineteen fucking years old. Do you realize any of this?” He shook his head at
her. “You better take care of this.”
Misty
had calmly stroked Tinker to settle the dog and looked up at Jackson. “You know
what Jackson? I made a mistake. People do. I’m an adult. I can take care of
whatever I have to. I’m a big girl. Okay?”
Jackson
walked up the steps, stopped at the top and looked down at her with a clenched
jaw, shook his head again and walked away.
That
night she had gone down to Tick’s apartment. He’d been holding a beer and
smiled from ear to ear when he opened the door and saw her. “Well, look here.
Come on in. Now this is a nice surprise. I’ve invited you down every time I saw
you. I hoped one day you’d take me up on it.”
His
apartment had various framed snapshots sitting on end tables and shelves. Misty
picked up one with a little boy on a man’s shoulders. “This you?”
“Yeah,
that’s me and Daddy. Mama puts pictures in frames and gives them to me every Christmas and on
birthdays and such.”
A
sectional sofa covered a corner of the living room and a poster of a racecar hung over it. Tick saw
her looking at it and said, “I’m a little low on art. Not that I’d know art if
it hit me over the head.”
Misty
could tell the beer had lessened the shy awkwardness Tick displayed around her
ever since she’d told him about Jackson. He lifted the bottle in his hand and
offered her one. She said no. He offered to take her to the pub on the corner.
She said no. He asked her to sit down on the huge couch and she did. He sat
with her and made small talk.
“I
think your mama might be right about plumbers. This guy at school says they get
seventy-five dollars just for showing up at somebody’s house.”
Misty
only offered short replies and Tick finally asked, “Misty, is everything
alright?”
“Maybe
I’m a little nervous.”
“You?
About what?”
Misty
leaned in and kissed him. With her lips barely touching his, she said, “Tick,
make me feel loved. I know you know how.”
Tick
leaned back a couple of inches. “What about Jackson? I saw you with him not too
long ago.”
“It’s
over.”
Tick
cocked his head. “What’s wrong with that guy?”
“Come
on, Tick. You know as well as I do people like me and Jackson don’t mix well enough to make
anything of it.”
Misty
scooted close to Tick and put her arms around his neck and kissed him again. She slid her leg over
him, and straddled him. She lightly placed one hand on the side of his face,
kissed him again and repeated the request in a whisper, “Make me feel loved.”
She’d
liked the way he took his time and kissed her face softly. She’d liked the way
he had put his arms around her and stood, lifting her up with him, and walked
to the bedroom. She’d liked the way he slowly undressed them both.
When
he had finished making love to her, he’d asked if it was okay. Misty had smiled
and nodded yes. She’d propped her head on her hand and noticed a photograph on
his dresser of a man and two boys with red balls on their noses and plastic
antlers on their heads.
She’d
pointed her head at the photograph. “What the hell is that?”
“Isn’t
that a beauty? That’s the result of my mother having extra money at Christmas.
She has an enlargement of this shot hanging on the wall right there in her
living room. She gave my brother one just like it. The big chicken hides it in
his closet until she comes over.”
Tick
had put his arm around her and stroked her slowly from the base of her neck to
the small of her back. His gentle tickling gestures had made her feel sleepy.
Then he’d begun to speak of how nice it would be to live in a house with a yard
and a patio. Misty had pictured him carving their names into the bench. Her
stomach became tight, and she had gotten up and dressed and told him she had to
go. Tick had hopped up and slid on his jeans and walked her to the door.
He’d
asked, “Are you alright?”
“Of
course I am. All my school stuff is upstairs, and I can’t be late to walk
Bowser.”
“I’ll
call you tomorrow night, Misty, okay?”
She’d
smiled, given him a quick kiss, and left.
She
had hardly seen Tick since that night. He had called every day wanting to see
her. She’d told him, “I’m sorry, Tick. I’m just too busy. I’m putting in extra
hours so I can take the exam early. I need my beautician’s license as soon as I
can get it.”
She
had started working at school on Saturdays when Tick would come by the
apartment with burgers. Last Saturday her mother’d said, “Boy, Tick sure has
missed seeing you, and his hair is getting long. He asked if you were upset
with him. Is there anything going on between you two?”
Misty
had shrugged. Her mother had folder her arms and said, “I told him you were
determined to make your way. That you’ve always been a big dreamer; I told him
that’s just who you are.”
She
hadn’t talked to Jackson since she’d told him. He’d called two weeks ago. When
she’d seen the black block letters of his name against the orange light of the
phone, she’d let it ring. He didn’t leave a message.
Misty
and Bowser stroll toward the field. The poplars have taken on a gold hue. Her
stomach churns, and she sits in the middle of the field. Bowser lies down
beside her and rolls on his back. She rubs his belly. She wonders how her
mother is doing.
Misty
found her mother asleep on the couch this morning with the television still on.
It’s where her mother sleeps when bad things happen. It was where she slept
when the old VW bug would break down, and she couldn’t afford to fix it. It was
where she slept when Paul, the only boyfriend Misty ever remembered her mother
having, moved away. Her mother slept there whenever she received a drunken
phone call from Misty’s Uncle Danny, who is living in a different town every
time he calls.
Her
mother called her baby when Misty had stroked her hair to wake her.
“Hey,
baby.”
Misty
gave her a smile and said, “Don’t worry about this Mama. I’ll make this okay.”
“I
know; we’ll get through it. What else can we do? I’ve made it okay, and you
will too. You’ll have me Baby; you will. I promise. You won’t be alone.” Her
mother’s eyes had welled, and she had dabbed them with the sleeve of her robe
and said, “I don’t guess I ever told you that my mama and daddy married because
of Uncle Danny. Well, at least it was one of the reasons. Danny and me figured
it out on his sixteenth birthday. I guess this is a family tradition.”
Misty
tries to lean back in the grass on her elbows, but every time she gets low enough
Bowser wants to lick her face. The dog gets her chin with his tongue, and she
sits up and wipes her chin with the back of her hand. She spies the bluebird
charm dangling from her wrist. She hadn’t taken the bracelet off since her
mother had fastened the clasp.
Misty
had started a nervous habit of rubbing the bluebird charm between her thumb and
fingers whenever she felt defeated or like she might cry. She’d been rubbing
the charm before she bolted from the waiting room at the abortion clinic and
hopped a bus to school. When she’d arrived at school her classmate, Kevin, sat
down his sheers and briefly excused himself from his patron. He picked up a
paper sack, walked over, handed it to Misty and said; “Some Cool drink of water
named Tick dropped this off this sandwich for you.”
Misty
hold ups her wrist, taps the charm with her finger and watches it wave back and
forth. Misty wonders if Tick has parental instincts like a bluebird. She
wonders if she has them. Her mother has often told her, “You get all that
dreaming up big ideas from that son of a bitch who left us.” Misty wonders what
other traits he gave her.
She
drops her hands in her lap and the bulldog nudges at them. She takes a few deep
breaths. Her stomach settles. It’s a warm morning for November. She looks at
the sky. Heavy gray clouds are beginning to close in. She wonders if Elizabeth
is dressing Ladybug and getting her ready for their trip to the park, sliding a
little bow into the girl’s dark curls.
Misty
pulls her backpack in her lap and pulls her phone from it. She leaves a message on Ticks voice
mail. “Hey, Tick. Can I see you to tonight? I have something I want to tell
you.”
Misty
puts the phone back in her backpack. Misty thinks about how her mother has
always been afraid, always waiting for the horrors around the corner. She
thinks about the definition of redemption. She’d looked it up and memorized it.
She scratches the dog’s chin and whispers it to herself, “The act, process or
result of redeeming something or someone. The act of making something better or
more acceptable.”
Misty
lies down. She lets her head fall back in the grass. She lets Bowser take a few
licks on her cheek. She lets a few tears slide down her temples, rests her
hands across her stomach and slowly rubs the bluebird charm between her thumb
and fingers.
