Olivia scrunched up her face, lowered her voice, and looked around the room to make sure we were alone. “The Rat King,” she whispered. “I dreamed I was Clara and I had the most beautiful blue dress. And I had pointe shoes, Mom, real pointe shoes like a real ballerina, and I could dance in them, all the way up on my toes—it was like flying!” She looked giddy, then her face darkened. “Buthewas there. He was watching from the shadows, from the wings at the edge of the stage. Then he was onstage, trying to get me. I kept jumping away and spinning, but he justgot closer and closer, dancing toward me.” Her voice got squeakier, more agitated as she spoke.
I stroked her hair. “Well, it was only a dream, little mouse. There’s no Rat King or rat of any sort here.”
“Are you sure?” She looked around worriedly.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Will you check?”
I got down on my knees, looked under the bed. “Nothing here,” I said. “Unless you count a small dust bunny or two.”
I did a dramatic fake sneeze—aaaa-choo!—which made Olivia smile.
I opened her closet door, saw the sea of pink and purple clothes, everything bright and sparkly and cheerful. No evil Rat King would dare try to hide in there.
“All clear,” I told her. I went over to the window, opened the pink curtains and blinds to let the sun in, filling the room with light.
“Can Moxie come check too?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “What, you don’t trust me?”
“It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“She can see things we can’t.”
I thought of the Dickinson line Mark had mumbled last night: how dogs werebetter than human beings because they know, but do not tell.
“Sure,” I said, my voice shaky. “Let’s get Moxie to come take a look.” I went to the door, called the dog. She came running, tail swinging, wondering if maybe she was going to get a cookie.
“Good dog,” I said, giving her soft black head a scratch. She sniffed around the room and looked at me, no doubt disappointed that there was no treat. I patted the foot of Olivia’s bed and Moxie jumped up, thrilled to be invited. She crawled onto Olivia, licked her face, making her giggle. “See,” I said. “She’s telling you everything’s all right. Now, I think the two of you should hurry downstairs and grab some breakfast. Moxie hasn’t eaten yet either.”
“Poor Moxie,” Olivia cooed, scratching the dog behind the ears.
“We’re behind schedule this morning,” I said. “Moxie’s tummy must be grumbling.”
“Can I have gingerbread pancakes?” Olivia asked. “With whipped cream?”
“I’m not sure there’s time for that this morning,” I said, checking my watch. “I don’t want you to miss the bus.”
She made a dramatic pouty face.
“How about this: you can have cereal this morning, then we can do breakfast for dinner. I’ll make gingerbread pancakes.”
“And fruit salad? And bacon?”
I nodded. “All of that.” I pulled back the covers fully and took her hand. “Come on, little mouse, hurry up and get ready. I’ll go down and get a bowl of cereal for you and make you a lunch.”
“Can I eat my cereal with Grandma in her room?” she asked, her face brightening even more.
I smiled. “I’m sure she’d love that.”
Olivia frowned.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I think she was in my dream too. Grandma.”
