better than to hurt people’s feelings. She would replace the painting in the art studio and say nothing. Forget she ever saw it.
Why was she thinking about Ray’s painting while Katie was still out there, begging to be rescued from whatever situation she’d gotten herself into? She peeked out the small window over the kitchen sink and watched as the rain bucketed down. A heavy mist lingered over the coast, hiding the ocean but not the bay. The Northern Lighthouse swung an amorphous beam of light through the pea soup. She fought back the tears, thinking about Katie. Hopefully, her daughter was at least warm and sheltered.
She got jarred out of her thoughts by the sound of Scout’s bells. From the kitchen she could see into the living room and saw Scout staring at Raisin and then at her, and bowing his head to alert her that something was happening. Moving into action, she grabbed the test kit on the counter and ran straight to her son. She drew a drop of blood, and then touched and held the edge of the test strip to the drop of blood. Low eighties, not terribly low, but that number could dip further, and fast, if not addressed. She took a few gummy bears out of the package sitting on the coffee table, and handed them to Raisin. He cupped them to his mouth and began chewing. She suddenly became aware of the sound of meat sizzling in the skillet. Dinner would have to wait fifteen minutes or so until his numbers had adjusted. After fifteen minutes had passed, and Raisin’s number stabilized, she removed a liver treat from her pocket and held it out to Scout. “Good dog. Good dog. Treat. Treat,” she said to him, watching as the Lab happily snatched the liver treat out of her hand. The treat was Scout’s incentive to continue doing the job he was put on earth to do, and also because she deeply appreciated this unique animal that God had gifted them.
The dog strutted proudly past her father, his head held high. “You should let that dog run outside and get some fresh air. It’s not normal for a mutt to stay cooped up like that all day.”
“He’s Raisin’s service dog, Dad.”
“What the hell’s a service dog? I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous thing in all my life. And who’s this damn Raisin you keep talking about?”
Isla shot her son a look, as if to say, “Be nice.”
“I’m right here, Grampa.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know. I know damn well who you are. You’re with her. The two of you are trying to steal all my money and get rid of me.”
“How about we eat supper now?” Isla said, trying to defuse the situation and keep her emotions in check.
“Supper! Now, you’re talking.”
The three of them walked into the kitchen, and Isla put the food on the table. Then they sat down at the table, and Isla asked Raisin to say grace. Her father made the sign of the cross, a ritual every Catholic child of a certain age could do from memory. It was these same Catholic rituals, of which there were many, that she fell back on for comfort and support. Raisin recited a common prayer without emotion and finished with a pronounced amen, as if to say, “Roger and out, God.” Then the three of them ate in silence.
But her mind rebelled against this artificial stillness. She couldn’t stop thinking about Katie. “Pass the tots,” and she thought of Katie. “More juice?” and Katie. The pudding reminded her of Katie. It didn’t help that she kept glancing at Katie’s empty chair throughout the meal. So much so that she gave no thought to the fact that Ray’s chair also sat empty.
* * *
After Raisin and her father went to bed, Isla sat on the couch in the dark and logged on to the computer. Instagram. Facebook. Finstagram. Twitter. Google. Anywhere she could search for any information about Julian McCallister. Something about that boy troubled her. She’d seen trust funders like him when she was at college. She understood their lack of awareness in regard to wealth and privilege. Kids like Julian seemed to think that the rules didn’t apply to them. Or that their daddy’s money allowed them to skirt all and any authority. Girls existed to serve as their toys, and they never took no for an answer—even when the girl explicitly told them no. It occurred to her