His dad sounded like a dolt. Believing didn’t give you a superpower. “What’s your superpower?” she asked as she looked around for her shoes.
“I’m still deciding,” he said, and began to draw something in the dirt with his metal thingy. “My dad says you have to try different things to find out what you like. Hey, want to see my box of badges?”
She had no idea what a box of badges was but shook her head. “Maybe some other time. I need to clean up.” She rolled onto her knees and came to her feet, holding on to the shovel for support.
“Can Aggie and I still play?” the kid asked.
“I don’t know. Can you do it without being loud? Because you were being loud when I came out here.”
He looked surprised by this news. “Superloud?”
“Super-duper loud,” she said, although she wouldn’t swear to it in a court of law. “Can I trust you to stop kicking the ball against the house?” She bent down to pick up her shoes.
“I’ll be quiet. When we have quiet time at school, my teacher said I’m the quietest.”
Doubtful. “Congratulations. Just keep it down. I had a terrible day. And don’t fall in the hole—I don’t need a lawsuit.”
“Okay. Come on, Aggie!”
“Agnes,” Lorna said again, but the two were already off like a shot across the yard.
She returned to her apartment, pausing at the threshold to kick clumps of earth off her shoes. No sooner had she closed the door behind her than the kid kicked the ball against the house again.
She stood very still in the kitchen, her eyes closed, her fists clenched at her sides. Then she stepped back to the kitchen door and watched the boy and Agnes. She’d been so happy playing in this backyard as a kid. Before everything went to hell. Nostalgia, warm and thick like honey, moved through her, filling her up. It was the good kind of nostalgia. Sometimes it made her feel sick, because not all nostalgia was good. But this was not that.
She watched the kid and Agnes long enough that if anyone saw, they might think she was being creepy. When the two went racing around the side of the house to the front yard, she finally turned away.
She heard a car door slam, then voices. Moments later, there was a knock at her door.
Lorna straightened her suit jacket, then remembered she was covered in dirt and sweat. She frantically tried to smooth her hair away from her face but felt it pop right back around, probably going off in a million frizzy curled directions. No time to fix it now. She went to the door and opened it a sliver. The man who lived across the hall with the kid was standing there, his arm around his son. She’d only seen him across the lawn, but up close, she realized he was bigger than he appeared at a distance. A little taller than her and broad-shouldered. He looked to be roughly her age, maybe a bit older, forty-five-ish, give or take. His hair was shaggy and long, almost reaching the shoulders of his plaid shirt. His eyes were nearly navy blue, and he was sporting an afternoon beard. He was good-looking. Much better looking than the men in her office. Good-looking enough that she didn’t want to look away. She could see instantly what the kid would look like when he was grown: barrel-chested and strong.
He cocked his head to one side to see her better in the crack of the door. “Hi there,” he said, and smiled. A very lovely smile. “I believe we have your dog.”
As if on cue, Agnes trotted forward. Lorna opened the door a little wider so she could trot in, but immediately returned to peering through just a crack. “No problem.”
He was still smiling, and she couldn’t work out why. Was he just... friendly? “Everything okay?” he asked.
“All good here,” she said quickly.
He nodded, then put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Can you say thank you for allowing you to play with her dog?”
“Thank you for allowing me to play with your dog,” the kid said. “Bye, Aggie!”
Lorna wanted to correct him again but held her tongue. She wasn’t a complete curmudgeon.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I got caught up at work. I hope my son didn’t bother you.”
“No. He’s just... young.”
“That he is. Anyway, thanks again. Have a good afternoon.”
Lorna gave him a curt nod to indicate that as much as she would like to have a good afternoon, that ship had already sailed. She watched them disappear into the apartment across the hall, the man’s arm around his son, the son chattering about (and she might have misheard this) missile launches.
She closed the door and turned around. Agnes had already melted onto the floor in a sploot. Her nubbin of a tail began to wag when Lorna glared down at her. “Thanks a lot.”
Agnes kept wagging her cropped tail and added a happy pant to it.
Lorna’s wave of nostalgia and any residual rage had already emptied out of her, leaving her numb. She glanced at the neat stack of letters on the console table next to her chair. They were all pink. All from her stepmother. All unopened.
