“I think she’s jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah. Because Caleb likes you better than he likes her.”
“Oh, I don’t know about—”
“It was obvious, Mom. Couldn’t you see it?”
“I’m not sure.” To change the subject, she told him about Caleb’s grandmother, and how amazing it was that she remembered Wendy from so many years ago. “Nana is such a darling old lady—and I hope you don’t mind but I told her about our sand dollars.”
“Mom!”
“She promised not to breathe a word of it.” Now she told him about how Nana found sand dollars so long ago. “They got a hundred in one day, Jackson. And that was partly why she started the shell shop. I know we can trust her not to tell anyone. And she loved hearing about it.”
“Okay then ... You didn’t tell anyone else? Not even Caleb?”
“No—I didn’t tell anyone else.”
“And we’re still going out tomorrow morning? First thing?”
“You bet we are.” As she pulled into the driveway, the wheels in her head were already spinning—imagining ways she might be able to use their sand dollars as well as the other multitudes of shells her grandparents had found to make objects that could be sold. She knew they wouldn’t get rich from selling shell art, but if she could just help cover some of their expenses before her credit card went up in a puff of smoke, she would be most grateful.
eight
AS THEY STARTEDup to the front porch, Wendy heard a scuffling sound. Grabbing Jackson’s hand, she began to back up, digging in her jacket pocket for her phone. It was too dusky to see well, and they hadn’t left any lights on. With a trembling hand, Wendy prepared to call 911. It figured that after such a perfect day, they’d come home to a burglar!
“What is it?” Jackson whispered as she tugged him toward the car.
“Someone on the porch,” she hissed. “Get in the car and—”
“Look, Mom!” He pointed toward the porch. “It’s just a dog.”
“What?” She lowered her phone, peering through the darkness.
“It’s a dog.” Jackson let go of her hand and hurried toward the house. “Hey, dog,” he said gently. “What’re you doing here?”
Sure enough, an energetic dog bounded down the steps, wagging its tail as Jackson knelt to greet it. “It’s friendly,” Jackson said as she rushed over. She unlocked the front door and turned on the porch light, revealing a midsized dog. It appeared to be a mixed breed—maybe some terrier as well as some shepherd, but the dog’s expression and wagging tail suggested friendliness.
“Where did you come from?” Wendy knelt to see that the dog’s shaggy coat was matted and dirty. “Any ID?”
“He doesn’t have a collar,” Jackson told her.
“How do you know it’s a he?” she asked.
Jackson snickered. “Some things are obvious, Mom.”
“Oh, well.” She stood up. “What do we do with him?”
“I think we should feed him,” Jackson told her. “I can feel his ribs.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure about taking a stray dog into the house. “Maybe we should call someone ... to get him.”
“It’s Thanksgiving, Mom. Who are you gonna call?”
Wendy shrugged. “Good point.”
“Are you hungry, boy?” Jackson opened the door. “Wanna come in and have some food?”
