Kristy Thomas, Dog Trainer, Page 4

  Mary Anne nodded, but I thought she looked doubtful. I admit, I felt a pang of worry too. But I didn’t let it show as I called Mr. Cooper back to confirm the job.

  He said, “Oh, good, Kristy. And it’s not really baby-sitting, you know. That’s what we told Deb. She insists that she can handle being on her own, but we told her we just want someone around in case of an emergency.”

  “No problem,” I said, but with a lot more assurance than I felt.

  After I hung up, we talked a little more about Mary Anne’s sitting session at the Coopers’. I still hadn’t seen Deb. In fact, as we talked, we realized that Mary Anne was the only person we knew who had seen Deb since she’d lost her eyesight.

  That surprised me. I knew from Shannon that Deb probably wasn’t planning to go back to school, since the school year would be ending by the time she was ready to go full-time. I had assumed that Deb still didn’t feel like dealing with other people. But she was going to have to, sooner or later, even if she didn’t go back to school right away. It wasn’t going to get any easier if she waited.

  That was when I had my brilliant idea. “Listen,” I told Mary Anne and Claudia. “What do you think about bringing the Hobarts and Kuhns by to visit when I stay with Deb? You know, just drop by, get her used to the idea of other people. Since they’re not classmates of hers, it might be easier.”

  Mary Anne said, “I don’t know….”

  “It might work,” Mallory decided. “She can’t say no if you just show up.”

  “It seems to me she’s been through enough shocks lately,” Stacey argued. “What if it’s too much?”

  “Well, we can just leave,” Claudia said.

  We thought about it a moment and then, to my surprise, Mary Anne said, “Well, maybe it’s worth a try. Claudia’s right. We can always leave if it’s too much.”

  With Mary Anne’s seal of approval, how could we miss?

  “Done deal,” I concluded.

  We fielded a few more calls and then it was time to go. Charlie was waiting at the curb when Abby, Scout, and I came out. “We have to go to the grocery store on the way home,” he said. “Watson gave me a list.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Scout hasn’t been to the grocery store yet. Have you, Scout?”

  Hearing her name, Scout pricked up her ears and thumped her tail. At the grocery store, Scout walked on her leash like the perfect puppy she was, hardly pulling at all. We talked to two people who were also grocery shopping, and I told them about Scout and the Guide Dog Foundation. One of the people, a young woman, took down the address of the foundation, declaring that she was going to make a donation. The other person, an older man, told us that we were “proof that the younger generation isn’t as bad as everyone says,” and congratulated us.

  I guess that’s what made what happened next so surprising. We’d just turned down the cereal aisle when a thin woman said in a loud voice, “Well, I never!”

  The woman stared hard at us and then pointed at Scout. “What is that animal doing in here?” she demanded even more loudly.

  “This is Scout,” I said proudly. “She’s a guide dog in training.”

  “I don’t care. Dogs are not allowed in the grocery store. Didn’t you read the sign?” Now the woman’s voice was not only loud but getting shrill. Scout sat down and stared up at the woman.

  “As a guide dog in training, Scout has permission to be in the store,” Abby insisted politely.

  “To make messes. And what if someone is allergic?”

  “I’m allergic,” Abby replied, and I could tell she was about to ignite. “What Scout is doing is a lot more important than my allergies.”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone,” said the woman.

  “Well, you can check with the manager,” said Abby, kind of rudely.

  “I will!” the woman exclaimed angrily. She marched past us, pushing her shopping cart as if it were a battering ram.

  I looked around. Charlie had inconveniently disappeared.

  We didn’t see the woman again until we were headed for the checkout counter. This time, she was dragging a man in shirtsleeves and tie beside her. “There they are!” she said. I half expected her to add, “Arrest them!”

  But she didn’t. She just stood, a picture of outrage, pointing at Scout as if Scout were a plague dog or something.

  The manager’s name tag read “Tom Feldman.” He was young and he had friendly brown eyes. I said, “Hi, Mr. Feldman.”

  “What seems to be the problem here?” he asked.

  “This is Scout,” I explained. “She’s a guide dog in training.” I pointed to her jacket.

  Mr. Feldman squatted down beside Scout. I thought she might jump up, but she didn’t. She wagged her tail and managed to swipe the tip of his chin with her tongue.

  “Disgusting,” I heard the woman say. “Unsanitary.”

  Mr. Feldman stood up. “She seems fine,” he said. “I assume she’s house-trained — or store-trained.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Aren’t you going to throw them out of the store?” the woman insisted, her voice growing even louder. Scout’s ears pricked up.

  Several people at the checkout had stopped to stare. I was embarrassed but also angry.

  Then, to my amazement, Mr. Feldman said, “Guide dogs in training, just like guide dogs and all other service dogs, are welcome in this store.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  Abby’s mouth dropped open.

  The woman’s mouth dropped open. Then she said, “Well! I’m taking my business elsewhere.”

  Mr. Feldman nodded. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said.

  The woman left her full cart right there and turned and stomped out of the store.

  Three people in the next checkout line applauded!

  Abby whooped.

  Mr. Feldman’s face turned bright, bright red. “See you again soon, Scout,” he said and hurried away.

  Charlie came out of the far aisle with an armful of groceries and dumped them into our cart.

  “I thought I heard someone yelling,” he said with feigned innocence. “Did I miss anything?”

  Abby and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  Deb was sitting in the family room when Mr. Cooper escorted me in. The shades were drawn. The lights were off. It was downright gloomy.

  “Wow,” I blurted out. “It’s dark in here.”

  Deb turned her head toward the sound of my voice. “No kidding,” she said sarcastically.

  Mr. Cooper patted me on the shoulder as I began to stammer out an apology. “It is dark in here,” he said. He opened the blinds and turned on a lamp.

  “You remember Kristy, Deb,” Mr. Cooper said in a conversational tone of voice. “Mom works with her dad.”

  Deb didn’t answer.

  “Mrs. Cooper will be home from work at six o’clock,” Mr. Cooper went on after a pause. “The boys and I should be back by then. There’s a number on the table by the phone in the kitchen where you can reach us if there’s an emergency.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Deb said bitterly. “I won’t move until you get back. I wouldn’t want to cause the baby-sitter any trouble.”

  She spoke with such venom that I was taken aback.

  “Deborah,” Mr. Cooper cautioned. Then he sighed quietly and shook his head. He patted my shoulder and left without another word.

  Suddenly my brilliant idea didn’t seem so brilliant. I wished I had thought about it a little longer.

  I said, “Uh, Deb?” Should I warn her? Prepare her for her unexpected and probably unwelcome visitors?

  “That’s my name,” Deb shot back, staring at nothing. Then she said, “It’s called angle closure glaucoma. That’s the disease I have. It’s hereditary — my grandmother had it — but it could happen to anyone.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “It could happen to you,” she said. “Right now.”

  I blinked. I was at a loss for words, a totally unfa
miliar feeling.

  Deb went on. “I had a bad headache. It went on for a few days. Then I started seeing these, like, halos around lights and things.” She laughed bitterly. “I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to get glasses.”

  “Mal has glasses,” I said. “So do Mary Anne and Abby. So does my little sister Karen.”

  Deb ignored my stupid comment. She continued, “Then I woke up one morning and I was sick. I threw up and I threw up again and then I couldn’t see. They took me to the hospital but it was too late. Even surgery didn’t help.”

  Watson had talked a little about what had happened to Deb, but it wasn’t the same as hearing it from her — hearing her words drop, hard and ugly, into the silence of the family room.

  “So that’s it,” she went on. “Now I’m the town blind girl. Are there people at the windows looking in? You could charge them a quarter apiece and make some money.”

  “Stop it!” I cried, horrified at what she was saying. She didn’t sound like a twelve-year-old at all. She sounded like a bitter adult.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said.

  I was. But I was staring now because I was so shocked by her words. “Because I don’t know what to say to you,” I blurted out.

  Deb said softly, “I wish you did.”

  It was just at that moment that the front doorbell rang.

  Deb’s head jerked around. “Who’s that?” She pushed up from her chair.

  “I’ll get it,” I said quickly.

  Mary Anne stood at the door with the two oldest Hobart boys — Ben, who is eleven, and James, who is eight.

  “Where are Jed and Mark?” James asked.

  “They have a doctor’s appointment,” I told him.

  “Better them than us, mate,” said Ben with a cheeky grin. (The Hobarts are from Australia.)

  “We’re on our way to the park. Want to come?” James asked. He waved his baseball glove in the air enticingly.

  At that moment, Claudia called, “Mary Anne, Kristy, hey, you guys!”

  James Hobart saw Jake Kuhn, who is the same age he is, and said instantly, “You can be on my team.”

  Laurel Kuhn, who is six, was holding a soccer ball. She said, “But I want to play soccer, not baseball.”

  “Football’s good too,” said Ben.

  Laurel looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “Oh, that’s what people in Australia call soccer.”

  “No,” Ben replied. “Soccer is what people in the United States call football.”

  Patsy Kuhn, who is five, didn’t say anything. She held on to Claudia’s hand and looked thoughtful.

  “What’s happening, Kristy?” Claudia asked. “We’re on our way to the park. Want to come?”

  If I hadn’t known it was all planned, I wouldn’t have known. Claudia and Mary Anne sounded completely believable. But I still didn’t think Deb was going to be too happy at their arrival.

  “Uh,” I said, at a loss for words for the second time in one afternoon.

  “Is Mark home?” asked Jake, peering past me. “He can be on my team too. And you can be the umpire, Kristy, since you know about baseball.”

  “Mark and Jed aren’t here,” Ben said.

  “What about Deb?” Claudia asked. “Is she around? Maybe we could say hello.”

  I shook my head at Claudia, but she didn’t notice.

  The mention of Deb’s name brought on an immediate silence. I could tell that no one knew quite what to say. Then Mary Anne said, “Maybe Deb would like to walk to the park with us.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to stall for time.

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Ben inquired.

  What could I do? I turned and went back down the hall to the family room. Before I realized what was happening, everyone else followed. When I stopped at the door of the family room, they all stopped too.

  Deb jerked around. “Who’s there?” she said. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me. Kristy,” I said. “And …”

  “Hi, Deb,” said Ben. “It’s Ben Hobart. And James. We’re on our way to the park with Mary Anne and we thought you might like to come along.”

  “We’re going too,” Patsy chimed in.

  As each person spoke, Deb’s head jerked toward the sound. Then she seemed to shrink into the chair as if she wanted to disappear.

  After a long moment of waiting for Deb to speak, Jake said, “We’re going to play baseball. Or maybe soccer.”

  “Football,” Laurel insisted, grinning at Ben.

  Deb spoke then. “I’ll make a deal,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll come play with you if everyone wears a blindfold. That’ll make it even.”

  I saw Claudia’s eyes widen, and I heard Ben mutter, “Whoa.”

  I felt myself getting angry. I knew Deb was hurting, but it seemed so unfair for her to take it out on little kids. I said, as evenly as I could manage, “Well, you don’t have to go to the park, Deb.”

  “We’d better be going,” Claudia said at the same time.

  “Yup,” Jake agreed. I noticed that he wasn’t quite looking at Deb. In fact, he was looking everywhere but at her. Patsy, however, had released Claudia’s hand and stepped into the room. She walked up close to Deb, staring. Then she held up her hand and waved it.

  Of course Deb couldn’t see her. “Oh,” said Patsy. “You really can’t see me!”

  Deb jumped a little when she heard how near Patsy was to her. Then she said, “Who’s there? Who are you?”

  “Patsy, Patsy Kuhn. I’m five.”

  By this time, Claudia had reached Patsy. She caught her by the hand and said, “We should be going, Patsy.”

  Jake said, “If you can’t see, does that mean you have to stay in this room? I mean, can’t you walk around or anything?”

  Deb said, “I could if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. I like it here.”

  “It’s a nice day out,” Laurel said softly.

  “Well, I’m blind and I can’t see it. So why don’t you just go and play and leave me alone.”

  Patsy looked back over her shoulder. She said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me,” Deb replied icily. “Don’t you dare be sorry for me. I don’t need your pity. You don’t have to visit me and be nice to me. In fact, the nicest thing you could do is just leave me alone!”

  Claudia and Mary Anne quickly herded the Kuhns and the Hobarts out of the doorway. (They didn’t need much convincing.)

  “I’ll go let people out,” I said to Deb, so she wouldn’t continue talking to an empty room.

  “Do that.” The rage in Deb’s voice made me wince. “And tell them that it was nice to see them.”

  I caught up with everyone at the front door.

  “I guess my brilliant idea wasn’t so brilliant after all,” I said.

  “I guess not,” said Claudia.

  James asked, “She doesn’t really have to stay in the house, does she?”

  “No,” Mary Anne told him. “She’s just not ready to come out yet, that’s all.”

  “It’d be hard,” Ben said. He shook his head. “Awfully hard.”

  “We’d better get to the park,” Claudia said. “See you later, Kristy.”

  “See ya,” I said. I closed the door and went back to join Deb, with a heavy heart. When I reached the family room, I discovered that Deb had turned on the television.

  “Deb,” I began.

  She picked up the remote and after a few seconds of fumbling, cranked up the volume. “That’s a hint,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

  So I sat silently with Deb Cooper until her mother came home.

  What a beautiful day, I thought, stretching and yawning. Then I remembered it was Saturday and decided it was an even more beautiful day. I got up, got dressed, and went downstairs to eat a Breakfast of Coaches and Champions.

  Wise coach that I am, I had foreseen it was going to be a beautiful day and had called a Krushers’ practice for that morning.

  The Krus
hers, as you may remember, is the kids’ softball team I coach, with Abby as my assistant coach. It’s mostly for really little kids. Some kids who are older and on other teams also play on the team, but the average age of the approximately twenty regular players is 5.8. Our full name is Kristy’s Krushers, which was the name given us by Jackie Rodowsky, a good ball player and terrific sport who has the amazing ability to get into all kinds of weird and sometimes funny accidents wherever he goes.

  David Michael and Karen were ready and waiting at the kitchen table. Their gloves were by their plates, and although we didn’t have a game that day, Karen was wearing her Krushers shirt. She’s the only one on the team who spells it with a “C.” Karen is a stickler for accuracy.

  “Hi, Krushers,” I said, making myself a cereal combo. Cereal combos are one of the nice things about having lots of different people in a family. It means that you aren’t usually stuck with one variety of cereal. I passed on Watson’s low-fat cereal with extra bran, and went instead for a combo of Rice Krispies (Nannie’s favorite), plain cornflakes (Charlie’s), and granola mix (Mom’s).

  “Can we take Scout to practice?” Karen asked.

  “I don’t see why not, if Watson says it’s okay,” I answered.

  “Shannon too,” David Michael insisted.

  Watson, who’d been reading his newspaper at the end of the table with Scout at his side, looked up. “Daddy, please?” Karen begged, clasping her hands together dramatically, as if she were pleading for someone’s life.

  I saw Watson’s lips twitch. “We-e-ell,” he said.

  “Pleeeeease,” Karen repeated.

  “Okay,” Watson decided, which was a signal for Karen to take off like a shot to get Scout’s leash and yellow jacket, with David Michael right behind her to get Shannon’s gear.

  We ambled to practice, giving Shannon and Scout time to thoroughly sniff everything that interested them. Since Shannon was older than Scout, she was more used to being on a leash, and I think it helped Scout to see Shannon taking everything in stride.

  Even though it was early, the school playground was already getting crowded. Fortunately, the softball diamond hadn’t been claimed by anyone yet, except for a lone jogger methodically rounding the bases.