“Here we are!” Daisy was back. She jangled the keys she held in one hand. “You ready to see your new home?”
Her putting it that way filled me with a kind of stupid joy. I hadn’t even seen the place yet. For all I knew, it could be all cinder blocks and milk crates with a Confederate flag hanging over the sofa. I didn’t care so much. I could look out the window.
I followed Daisy off the front porch and around to the south-facing side of the garage, where a set of rickety stairs led upward.
“Be careful,” she called over her shoulder. “The steps ain’t exactly new.” She trudged onward, appearing confident, and said to the air in front of her, “Not sure a little dog like a pug will be able to manage these.”
I frowned. “She’s quite spry. And I can carry her up and down, if need be.” I paused halfway up, gasping and thinking I needed to start running again, and asked, “It isokay that I have a pet, right?”
She shrugged. “If you consider a dog a pet.”