“Bet you feel better now,” she says when I’m done.
I do, and I rub against her leg to thank her.
“You’re sweet, but we have work to do. You,” she says, finally addressing Miguel. “You’d better be nice to Fiona tonight.”
“Fiona?”
“Mymom.Duh.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” he says with amusement. “I’m just surprised to hear you call your mother by her first name.”
“She doesn’t like it, either, but the Stone Age is over.” She points down the hall. “Go on, she’s in the kitchen. I’ll take care of Harry.”
“Harry, huh?” says Miguel.
“Yeah. No offense, but who calls a dog Harold?”
“I’m not offended. That’s the name he came with. Are you sure—”
“OfcourseI’m sure,” she interjects. “I turn twelve in two months, which is legally old enough to babysit siblings in plenty of states. Not that I have a sibling, but if I did, I’m sureHarry would be way better behaved. Besides, Fiona will be less anxious if she doesn’t have to see him too much. Now go, and pleasebe good.”
She doesn’t check to see if I’m trotting behind her as she makes her way up the stairs; we both know I am. “Sorry,” says the other Amelia when we reach the second level. “I know you’ve had quite the day. I have, too. But I’m glad you’re here again.”
How can I not be charmed, when she’s talking to me just like my Amelia used to? Of course, Miguel rambles at me plenty, but this is different. She’s doing it because she wants to, not because it’s compulsive and there’s no one else to listen.
“Well, here’s my room,” she says, directing me inside.
I know right away that this is the best spot in the house. The walls are mostly built-in bookshelves, and there are a bunch of beanbags and blankets strewn about in front of them. The floor’s littered with books and notebooks and markers, too.
My Amelia would have loved it here, and for some reason, that makes me a little sad for feeling this excited about having a new friend who shares her name.
“Make yourself at home,” she tells me, plopping down in front of a blue armchair in a corner. She shoots me a skeptical look when I sit tentatively beside her. “Home,Harry.”
Home.The word nearly sounds right coming out of her mouth.
“Come on, feel this carpet,” she tells me, bending to rub her hand on the floor. “It’s so soft. You can lie down on it and listen to me read.”
Yes, I think I’d enjoy that. I stretch out as she grabs apaperback from beside the chair. She flips through it for a moment, then says, “I’m sure Fiona would prefer I was readingAnne of Green GablesorThe Secret Gardenor evenThe Baby-Sitters Club—but between us, I’d rather peruse the junk mail. Anyways, I have a feeling Stephen King’s the only one who can help us right now.”
Help us? Does he bail out bookstores?
“This is calledMisery.It’s about a writer who gets kidnapped by a crazy fan. I’m wondering if it’ll give me some ideas about what’s going on with Uncle Jon. My mom’s trying to act like everything’s fine, but she’s being way too weird, and something’s up. I can tell. I just don’t want her to be upset—she’s already been through so much with my grandparents getting killed in a car accident and then my dad taking off on her.”
Hmm, that is a lot. I wonder if she realizes it’s a lot for her, too. And if Amelia Mae doesn’t know where her uncle is, that means her mother probably doesn’t, either—which isn’t ideal. But she’s beginning to read, so I close my lids. Even though I don’t fall asleep, by the time she’s done, I feel every bit as rested as if I had.
“I’m glad you liked that,” she says, patting my belly. “I wasn’t sure how the whole leg-breaking thing would go over with you. Just remember, it’s only a book. You can always turn the page if you aren’t feeling it.”
“Love bug,” calls Fiona. “Come say hello! And please bring the dog with you—carefully!”
Amelia Mae frowns. “Drat, we’re being summoned. Come on, Harry. Let’s go make an appearance for the fogies. We’ve gotta show her we’re fine together.”
Fiona and Miguel are in the kitchen, which is smaller thanJonathan’s and smells like food. There are loads of photos on the fridge. Like with her room, you can tell someone actually lives here.
“There you are! I wanted you to say hello to Miguel,” says Fiona, who’s seated across from Miguel at the counter.
“We spoke,” Amelia Mae assures her mother. “Before I took Harry upstairs. And since you’re going to ask, he’s on his very best behavior today.”
Fiona’s eyes dart to me, and I flash her my teeth. She turns to Miguel. “Am I losing it or is he smiling at me?”
