Read Shamus In The Green Room for Free Online Page B

little
    Alexander’s hands.
    Mondays are hard, even under the best of circumstances.
    And my nerves were more than a little frayed from the events
    of the previous day.
    “Bad tiger,” said Alexander. “Snip, snip.”
    “He’s a leopard,” I replied, hanging the coat back up in my
    closet. “A fake one.” Not that a three-year-old cared about my
    conflicted position vis-à-vis fur.
    “Let’s not play with my clothes, okay?” This kid could dec-
    imate my wardrobe in no time if I let him. Distraction was the
    thing. I’d learned that over the four hours and counting we’d
    been together. You don’t want to say no; you want to propose
    alternatives.
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    I looked at Buster, my teacup poodle, snoring peacefully in
    his little wicker bed. “I know! Let’s put makeup on the dog!”
    No, even at his advanced age, Buster wasn’t going to fall for
    that one. Fresh air. That was what we needed. We’d been
    cooped up for too long. I took Alexander by the hand and led
    him out the back door, down the brick steps, and into the
    backyard.
    “Look at the pretty butterfly!” I pointed out a large black
    specimen with tiny white polka dots.
    “Birdie!” Alexander said, reaching out his arms.
    Close enough. “What do you say I put you to work?”
    He nodded shyly.
    I turned on the hose, sending the usual tremors through
    the plumbing system of my 1932 Spanish-style house, which
    was hanging on by a thread. That was part of its charm. Would
    the toilet flush? Would the doorbell chime? Would the wrought-
    iron sconces send crackling volts of electricity through my
    veins when I changed the bulbs? It was all so exciting and un-
    predictable.
    “Come over here and hold the watering can under the wa-
    ter,” I said to Alexander.
    “Water! I can swim! I grow tall!”
    “So tall,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “And you are
    going to help the garden grow, too. The plants are thirsty.
    Don’t they look sad?”
    Buster’s overactive bladder had pretty much destroyed the
    grass. I’d tried to train him to use the dog run, but he’d con-
    sidered that an infringement upon his rights as the man of the
    house.
    “Now take your little can over to the cilantro,” I said, pointing
    47
    to a sorry clump of feathery leaves that had all but dried to a
    crisp.
    “Dead,” Alexander intoned mournfully. He was right. Year
    after year I was defeated by cilantro.
    “Not too much water now,” I cautioned. “Too much isn’t
    good either.”
    “I don’t want water. I don’t wanna work. I want juice. I’m
    thirsty. I’m hungry, too.” Alexander dropped the watering can
    and started to cry.
    “There, there, sweetheart,” I said, picking him up. “Don’t
    cry.” He cried harder. “Cece’s going to make you a beautiful
    lunch right this very minute.” He was wailing inconsolably
    now. Poor kid had been through so much lately. I had no idea
    how Annie and Vincent were going to explain the fact that his
    mother was gone for good. Maybe she’d come back. She hadn’t
    absolutely closed the door on that possibility. Still, I wondered
    if at this point that would be a good or a bad thing.
    As soon as we set foot on the service porch, Mimi the cat
    appeared.
    “Shall we feed the pussycat first?” I asked.
    Alexander wiped his eyes. “How ’bout a peanut butter
    samwich? We could share.”
    “Good idea. We’ll just give her some turkey and giblets as
    an appetizer.” I cracked open a can of Fancy Feast and dumped
    it into her ceramic dish. Nothing but the best for Mimi.
    We walked into the kitchen and assembled the items we
    needed, sidestepping the destruction wrought by last night’s
    eggplant parmigiana, which was delicious, by the way. While
    the bread was toasting, I went into Annie’s old room, which I
    now used as a guest room, though I rarely had guests. Why
    48
    subject innocent people to a toilet that might not flush? I
    opened the closet door and flipped the light switch. What a
    mess. Even after