Chapter 8

Reading Miss Mahon’s comments brought the kindergarten playground to mind. “I wonder if we have any driveway sand,” I said. “I could stop and get some on my lunchbreak tomorrow.” I dug through the tote some more. “Except I’m too stoked.” Up I popped. “Off to the basement. Come on, cat. I need your assistance in case I have to fight a mouse for it.”

It was cold down there.

“Brr. Next time remind me to put on a shirt.”

“Mrow.”

“Eureka!” The interjection came from me, not the cat, based on my excitement at discovering what I’d gone downstairs to find. The bag was nearly empty, but there was plenty left for my purposes. “I’ll have to get some more before the ice storms cometh.”

Pocket was a piss poor audience, not even a pity laugh.

Back upstairs, I tried to choose between a hinged, velvet ring box and a pull-string foil bag with a reindeer on it. I chose the latter, spilling sand all over the carpet when I tried to fill it.

“Fuck. I should vacuum that up.”