Host neighborhood block party
ReadAnna Karenina
Learn to knit a baby hat so that when you are retired you can knit baby hats for newborns at South County Hospital
She studies the list, then renumbers the last item with a six and creates a new line with number five.
Learn to knit
Her cell phone rings, and Kona lifts his head, offended.
“Sorry,” Amy tells Kona.
“Amy? It’s Bianca!” Bianca is Amy’s contact at Friends Forever Rescue Organization. “I have wonderful news to share. Kona has found his furever home.”
Instantly a panicky feeling rises in Amy. “How can he have found his furever home? Nobody has come to meet him!”
“Right. I should say it’s pending approval by the family. But they’re repeat adopters, and they’ve read his file, and they’ve watched that lovely little video you took of him at the beach. I’ve spoken with them on the phone, and I don’t anticipate any issues. They’re coming down from Maine, so they’ll be in the area tomorrow. I’ll collect him from you around noon.”
Amy never should have made that damn video. In the video Kona had chased a tennis ball and brought it willingly back; he’d sat on command; gone into an enthusiastic down/wait; and shaken a paw, his left. They were still working on the right. Amy knew that would come in time. It always did.
“But—but,” she says. “What ifwewanted to keep him?” It was never in the plans to keep Kona. Greg is allergic, and he’s willing to take allergy medication for the brief foster periods, but they’ve agreed he shouldn’t have to spend his life medicated so Amy can have a dog.
Bianca becomes brisk, businesslike. “If you truly wanted to keep him, Amy, you should have spoken up within the first seven days of Kona’s arrival at your home. You know the rules.”
“I never even taught him to roll over!” says Amy. She highlights number two on her list and pressesdelete.
Bianca titters. “Oh, Amy. You’re such a hoot.”
“I wasn’t being funny.”
“I’ll be by to collect Kona and his things tomorrow. And if you’re open to another foster experience I think we can probably find you a new friend fairly quickly.”
“Maybe the family from Maine won’t like him,” says Amy.“Maybe I misrepresented him in the video. Maybe he’ll have to stay here for the rest of the summer.”
“Maybe!” says Bianca brightly. “But probably not.”
The next person who calls is her brother, Timothy.
“Is Sam okay?” is how Amy answers the phone.
“What? Amy. Of course Sam is okay. Why wouldn’t Sam be okay?”
“No reason,” says Amy. She and Timothy, as close as they once were despite the difference in their ages, have scarcely talked in the four years since their mother died. Amy knows this is mostly on her; she still resents the way everything went down at the end. (If Amy’s being honest, it’s mostly because of the Hugh Jackman thing—but Timothy doesn’t know how heavily that weighs on Amy’s mind.)
“I didn’t call about Sam. I called to offer you a job! With car privileges!”
“A job? I have a job.”
A beat of silence. “Don’t teachers still have summers off?”
“How do you know I’m not teaching summer school?”
“Areyouteaching summer school?”
“Well. No. Not this summer.”
Timothy starts talking, and Amy listens. He tells her about his conversation with Gertie, and about the play’s producer, Blake Allard, who doesn’t know anything about theater, and about all of the things that might slip through the cracks if they don’t find somebody who knows what they’re doing to take on the role of production manager. He tells her the salary, which is a very, very good salary.
