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bubbles washed over her crowded teeth. She glanced behind her then looked down at her matching shirt and pants, where pastel bears decorated the fabric. “Oh, these bears. It’s my uniform. I’m an LPN at the children’s hospital in Baltimore. I’m hoping it’ll turn into a full-time job. But right now, I’m just a substitute.”
    The geyser Dot produced pronouncing the word substitute kept me distracted until Rose said, “Well, this ain’t the children’s hospital. So climb back in your four-wheeled fuse-box and keep right on trucking.”
    â€œSeven-twelve, Rose!” my mother called, coming up behind us. She had developed a shorthand for the scripture she most often quoted to Rose—Matthew 7:12: “Do unto others as you would like done unto you.” Or, as my sister liked to translate, cut the crap and be nice.
    â€œI just came from the hospital where I work sometimes,” Dot informed my mother after they introduced themselves. “Sorry I didn’t change, but I worried I’d be late.”
    â€œAre you sure you want this lady bringing hospital germs into our house?” Rose asked my mother. “She could be carting along an army of bacteria for diseases like—” My sister looked at me. “Sylvie, name some weird diseases that might be contagious.”
    Normally, I would not have gone along with Rose’s behavior, but my desire to show off my smarts trumped all else. “Elephantiasis. Progeria. Hypertrichosis,” I rattled off. “Diptheria. Shigellosis. Leptospirosis.”
    My mother gave us a look and said more plainly, “Quit. Being. Rude.”
    â€œRubella,” I let slip.
    â€œSylvie!”
    â€œSorry.”
    She took a breath, then turned back to Dot, who stepped into the house, carrying her laundry basket. Inside, I saw her wrinkled clothing, deodorant, a worn toothbrush, and a bloated copy of The Thorn Birds . “You can change in the bathroom down the hall,” my mother told her, “then I’ll show you around and go over the rules.”
    Dot set her basket on one of the wingback chairs. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I have to wash a few things. So I’ll keep these clothes on until my nightie is clean.”
    â€œNightie?” my mother repeated.
    Dot smiled, her mouth foaming a little too. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea, Mrs. Mason. It’s not one of those lacy Frederick’s of Hollywood getups I used to break out for my husband. It’s just a flannel nightgown any old lady would wear to bed. Thing is, my cat hopped up on the bed this morning and peed on it. I guess when she saw me filling her auto-feeder she realized I was skipping out for a few days. Got her revenge ahead of time. Anyway, I figured I’d wash it here.”
    â€œI see,” my mother said, glancing at her slim watch and probably wondering if she had enough time to call the service and inquire about another nanny.
    My father came clomping up the basement stairs then, carting the suitcase full of equipment and his tote filled with notepads where he recorded observations for lectures. In the hours before their trips, he grew serious and preoccupied—this time was no different. “The flight leaves in a few hours,” he told my mother. “We better get going.”
    Not long after, the two of them were waving and honking from the Datsun as they pulled out of the driveway. No sooner had they disappeared down Butter Lane than Dot asked, “So what’s on the docket, girls? Are you hungry?”
    Rose didn’t answer, but I shook my head.
    â€œGood. Because I had some Burger King on the way over so I’m stuffed. You can help me get started on my laundry. Oh, and I assume there’s a bathtub in the house.”
    â€œIn my parents’ room,” I told her, “and one in the bathroom Rose and I share.”
    â€œGreat. I need to soak these weary