6. Draw a bigger circle that’s about 45 miles from your town.
7. Draw a bigger circle that’s about 60 miles from your town.
8. Make a list of the shelters in each circle, one list per circle.
9. Phone the shelters, starting with the list of shelters that are closest to your town.
10. Keep phoning until you find your dog.
I take the map and my lists into the kitchen. My father is awake now, finishing his breakfast and talking to Uncle Weldon. I hold up the map.
“What’s that?” asks my father.
“It’s my plan for finding Rain.” I show him and Weldon the circles and my lists. “I’ll start calling the shelters in the smallest circle and work my way out,” I say.
“Very organized,” says Uncle Weldon. “A very smart plan.”
“Plus it will keep you busy,” says my father.
There’s a chance that my father wants me busy so that I won’t ask him any more questions about letting Rain outside without her collar.
“I have a new homonym,” I announce. “‘Guise’ and ‘guys.’”
Then I take the map and the lists into my room and close the door.
26
Someone Calls Me Ma’am
The first shelter on my list is called Creatures of Comfort. I’m not sure what that means, but it doesn’t matter. Creatures of Comfort is located just seven miles away, outside the village of Effingham. I dial the number.
“Hello,” says a voice.
“Hello,” I say. “My name—”
But the voice continues talking. It sounds like it belongs to a robot. “Due to flooding, all services at Creatures of Comfort have been suspended. Sheltered animals are temporarily being housed at the Holiday Inn in Bellville. Please call back at a later time, or visit the Holiday Inn. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
The voice stops talking.
I look down at my list. I had planned to cross out each shelter after I called it, but now I can’t cross out Creatures of Comfort because I haven’t actually spoken to anyone there. I’ll have to call back another day. I realize I’m going to need a code in order to keep track of my calls. I think for a moment. Then I write today’s date by Creatures of Comfort, and next to that: CB. CB means Call Back.
I dial the number of the second shelter on the list, Rescue Me.
“Hello,” says a voice and I wait for the rest of the message. “Hello?” the voice says again.
The voice must belong to a real person.
“Hello,” I say. “My name is Rose Howard, and I’m looking for my dog. She got lost during the storm.”
“Hi, Rose.” The voice sounds kind. I think it’s a woman’s voice. “I’m sorry about your dog. What does she look like?”
I describe Rain, and add that my father let her out in a superstorm without her collar. “Oh, dear,” says the woman. “Well, we don’t have any dogs here that match Rain’s description. But dogs and cats that were separated from their owners are turning up every day. I’ll take down your information so we can call you if anyone brings in a small blond dog with white toes.”
“Seven white toes,” I remind her.
“Yes, seven white toes. That’s a good identifier.”
I give the woman my name and phone number and tell her I’ll check back in a few days. I look at my list again. Next to Rescue Me I write: CBIAFD. This means Check Back In A Few Days.
I call Furry Friends, the third shelter on the list. A man answers and I tell him about Rain.
“Well, ma’am,” he says, “we’re a very small shelter, and only two dogs have been brought in since the storm—a poodle and a Yorkshire terrier. I’m sorry.”
I give the man my name and phone number, hang up, and write: CBIAFD. There are still seven shelters to call before I can go on to the second list. When I have called all seven I look at the column I’ve made on the left-hand side of the paper. It reads: CB, CBIAFD, CBIAFD, CBIAFD, CB, NOATP (that means No One Answered The Phone), CB, CBIAFD, MPWWTTAK (Mean Person Who Wouldn’t Talk To A Kid), CB.
So far there is no sign of Rain.
* * *
I spend the rest of the morning calling shelters. My father and Uncle Weldon work on the temporary bridge. At lunchtime we sit in the kitchen and eat nice, fresh, cold food from the refrigerator. Then I go back to my lists and my father and uncle go back to the bridge.
By the end of the afternoon I have called every shelter on all of my lists and I have even called several of them a second time. (I decide to ask Uncle Weldon to call the mean person.) No one has seen Rain, but she could still be wandering. I will have to do a lot of phoning before school starts again.
* * *
Uncle Weldon stays for supper.
“What about the ad?” I say when my father has served us hot dogs.
“What ad?” asks my father.
Uncle Weldon clears his throat. “I told Rose I’d put an ad in the paper about Rain.”
“Unh.”
“Don’t you miss her?” I ask my father.
“Rain? Of course I miss her.”
“Then why did you let her out—” I start to say.
My father jerks his head up so fast that I jump backward in my chair.
Uncle Weldon frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“If she asks me that one more time,” says my father, “I swear I’ll—” My father stops talking suddenly. He’s looking at his brother, and so am I. I see something in Uncle Weldon’s eyes that hasn’t been there before.
“Enough,” Uncle Weldon says quietly to my father. “Enough.”
I leap out of my chair and dance around the table. “Two, three, five, seven!” I cry.
“Settle down, Rose. Settle down.” Uncle Weldon pats my chair. “Come back and finish your supper.”
“‘Settle down, Rose. Settle down. Come back and finish your supper,’” I repeat. “Uncle Weldon, you didn’t say any homonyms except my name.”
My father is holding his hot dog in midair and glaring at my uncle and me.
“That’s all right, Rose,” says Uncle Weldon, “because guess what. I thought of a new homonym for you today. How’s this? ‘Packed’ and ‘pact’?”
I forget about my father. “That’s a perfect one!” I exclaim. “It fits all the rules.” I think for a moment. “And if you follow that pattern, how about ‘tacked’ and ‘tact’?”
“Brilliant.” Uncle Weldon grins at me. “After supper we’ll work on your list.”
“Okay.” I glance warily at my father. I feel like Rain, trying to figure out what kind of mood he’s in.
“Did you know,” I say as we’re finishing our supper, “that if you add up the numbers of our names and subtract the numbers of Rain’s name you come out with a hundred and seventy-seven, which is not a prime number?”
Uncle Weldon frowns, thinking this over. “Is that good or bad?” he asks finally.
Before I can answer, my father says, “Who the hell cares?”
27
My Story Is Such a Sad One
On Monday, 10 days after Hurricane Susan, my school re-opens. Halloween has come and gone, but I don’t think anyone noticed. Uncle Weldon arrives at my house at the usual time. I am waiting for him on the front porch, only now I am alone. This is because my father let Rain outside without her collar during a superstorm.
The air is cool and the morning is sunny. As soon as I see my uncle’s truck I run across our yard to the temporary bridge and walk very carefully along the planks. I don’t want to fall into the stream below, even though now there isn’t much water down there. Parked in the road in front of our house is an old yellow car my father borrowed from Sam Diamond. He has to leave it in the street since we can’t drive over our temporary plank bridge. But at least we aren’t stuck on our property anymore.
I climb into Uncle Weldon’s truck, and as soon as I’ve closed the door, I announce, “‘Praise,’ ‘prays,’ and ‘preys.’”
Uncle Weldon smiles at me.
“Excellent. Was there room for that on your list?”
“Yes,” I say. “There was room.”
“Any word from any of the shelters?”
I shake my head. “No. No word.”
“Are you nervous about going back to school?”
I think for a moment. “Yes. I am nervous.” My father drove me by my school yesterday so I could see it, and it looked fine, but I’m still nervous.
“What are you nervous about?”
I shake my head.
I don’t know.
* * *
Mrs. Leibler walks me to Mrs. Kushel’s room and I see my desk. It looks like it did before Hurricane Susan. So does the rest of the room. Mrs. Leibler sits in her chair. I sit in mine. I begin to feel calmer.
The bell rings and Mrs. Kushel stands at the front of the room and smiles at us. “Hello, class,” she says. “I’m glad to see you here. And I’m glad to be here with you. The last week or so has been pretty scary. But now it’s time to get back to work. Before we do that, though, I think some of you might want to talk about your experiences during the storm.”
I can’t help myself. I leap out of my chair and say, “We can’t start yet, Mrs. Kushel! Anders and Lenora aren’t here.”
Mrs. Leibler pulls me back into my seat and gives me a look that is most likely a warning look.
“I was just getting to that, Rose,” says Mrs. Kushel. “I’m sorry to say that Anders and Lenora won’t be in our class any longer. Their families had to move.”
Flo raises her hand and says, “Their houses washed away.”
“Are they okay?” asks Parvani. Her voice shakes a little. “I mean, are Anders and Lenora okay?”
“They’re fine,” Mrs. Kushel replies. “Promise. Their families have left to live with relatives.”
“Could we write to them?” asks Parvani.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” says Mrs. Kushel. “We’ll write letters to Anders and Lenora this afternoon. Now, who would like to talk about their experiences?”
One by one my classmates talk about the last week and a half.
“My sister broke her arm,” says Morgan. “She fell down our stairs when the lights were out.”
“I wanted to go trick-or-treating,” says Martin, “but my parents said Halloween was cancelled.”
“We have to live on the second floor of our house until all the mud gets cleaned out of the first floor,” says Flo. “Our house stinks.”
Mrs. Kushel turns to me. “Rose, would you like to tell us anything? How did Hurricane Susan affect you?”
“Two trees fell in our yard—a birch and an elm. An oak tree split in half and the elm tree snapped over. Our bridge washed out. And my father let Rain outside during the storm without her collar and she didn’t come back.”
Parvani gasps. She cranes her neck to look at me and says, “Rain is missing?” Her voice is small.
“Yes,” I reply.
“She’s been gone since the storm?” asks Josh.
I see Mrs. Kushel and Mrs. Leibler glance at each other. Mrs. Kushel raises her eyebrows, and Mrs. Leibler shrugs her shoulders. It is some kind of conversation.
“That is such a sad story!” Morgan exclaims.
“Yes, it is,” I say. Then I add, “I devised a search plan.” I tell my classmates about the map and the circles and the lists. “Also, my uncle put an ad in the paper.”
“I liked it when Rain came to school,” says Josh.
“She’s the best dog ever,” adds Flo.
“Rose, I hope you find Rain,” says Parvani. Now her voice is trembling. She looks at me for so long that I have to turn my eyes away.
Mrs. Kushel touches Parvani’s shoulder. “What would you like to share?” she asks gently.
Parvani begins to cry. “My mom is an artist,” she tells us. “She stored her paintings in a warehouse and the warehouse flooded and she lost all her work. Everything she’s painted for fifteen years.”
I stare (stair) at Parvani. I didn’t know her mother was an artist. This is very sad.
Tears make wet tracks down Parvani’s cheeks. The room grows quiet.
“Parvani?” says Mrs. Kushel. She kneels beside her.
Parvani gulps air.
“Do you need to step into the hall?” I ask her.
“Rose—” Mrs. Leibler starts to say.
But Parvani gets to her feet. “Yes,” she replies.
Gulping and sobbing and wiping her face with her sleeve, Parvani winds her way through the desks to the door.
“I’ll go with her,” I tell Mrs. Leibler, and I follow Parvani into the hall.
Parvani leans her forehead against the wall.
I realize I should say something that will comfort her. “Parvani, I thought of a new homonym this morning. A triple. ‘Praise,’ ‘prays,’ and ‘preys.’ Isn’t that good?”
Parvani sniffles and nods her head. “Thank you, Rose.”
28
Riding with Uncle Weldon
On the Saturday after school starts again, Uncle Weldon parks his truck on the road in front of our house early in the morning, walks across the plank bridge, and knocks on our door.
“Uncle Weldon’s here,” I say to my father. “Can I go?”
My uncle and I are ready for a day of searching for Rain. She’s been missing for 2 weeks now, which is 14 days, which is not a prime number.
“Let him in,” says my father. “I need to talk to him.”
I open the door and my uncle and I smile at each other.
“Ready?” Uncle Weldon asks me.
“Ready.”
“Just a sec.” My father is standing at the sink, drinking orange juice out of the carton. “She needs to be home by five,” he says, pointing his thumb at me. “And no spoiling her with treats and ice cream.”
“I packed baloney sandwiches,” my uncle replies. “They’re out in the truck. That’s what we’re going to eat while Rose spends the day searching for her lost dog.”
My father narrows his eyes at his brother. “Is that sarcasm?”
“I’m just stating the facts.”
“Unh. All right.” My father pauses. “Well, sorry I can’t come with you, but I’m going to start working on the permanent bridge today.”
I call good-bye to him, and Uncle Weldon and I hurry out to the truck.
“Do you have everything?” he asks me as I climb into my seat.
“Yes.” I’m carrying a folder and in it are my lists and the map. Today we’re going to drive to the shelters that are closest to Hatford, the ones inside the smallest circle. I’ve already called all the shelters and been told that no small blond dog with seven white toes has been brought in. But I want to see for myself. Besides, a new dog could come in at any time.
Uncle Weldon studies my list. He thinks for a moment, puts the truck in gear, and says, “Let’s go to Rescue Me first, then Furry Friends.”
“Furry Friends is where someone called me ma’am,” I tell him.
Uncle Weldon laughs. Then he starts driving.
We spend the entire day in the truck or in shelters. Each time we arrive at a shelter we go inside and I step up to the reception desk and say, “Hello. My name is Rose Howard, and this is my uncle, Weldon Howard. We’re searching for my dog. She got lost in the storm. I called you before, but I wanted to stop by and look at the dogs.”
I have memorized this speech. Uncle Weldon helped me write it last night. It’s a lot to say to a stranger, but it’s worth it if it will help me find Rain.
Some of the people at the shelters remember talking to me, but some do not, including the MPWWTTAK. I can tell it’s the same mean person because I recognize his voice. This time he’s nicer, though. Maybe because Uncle Weldon is standing next to me.
After I give my speech, someone at each shelter takes my uncle and me to check the cages of lost or homeless dogs. We look into every cage hoping to see Rain.
We go to four shelters that morning, then we eat baloney sandwiches in
the truck, then we go to six more shelters.
We do not see Rain.
Ten shelters. No (know) Rain (Reign, Rein).
“Time to go home, Rose,” says Uncle Weldon as we’re leaving the tenth shelter. “I promised your father you’d be back by five.”
I’m sitting in (inn) the truck with my chin in (inn) my hand, watching the road (rode, rowed) ahead. I decide not (knot) to (too, two) answer.
“Tired?” asks my uncle.
“Yes.”
“Let’s get some ice cream.”
I slide my eyes to the left. “You promised my father you wouldn’t buy me ice cream.”
“That was before I knew how hard today would be. Don’t you think you deserve a treat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you keep it a secret from your father?”
“Is that like lying?”
“Maybe a little. But sometimes it’s all right to reverse our decisions. This morning your father and I decided on no ice cream. But now I think we deserve ice cream after looking at ten shelters and not finding Rain. Okay?”
“Okay.” Suddenly I jerk myself upright. “Uncle Weldon, Uncle Weldon! The lady who’s driving that car is talking on her cell phone. That’s against the law!”
“Think about ice cream, Rose. Decide what flavor you want.”
I close my eyes. “Strawberry,” I say.
I don’t open my eyes until we reach the Dairy Queen.
29
What Not to Do When You Think of a New Homonym
On Monday the weather is gray and wet. I think that if Rain is still lost outside, she must be cold. Maybe she’s shivering.
Mrs. Kushel hands out review sheets for math. One arithmetic problem after another: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. I like these sheets. They are very organized. Three columns of ten problems on each sheet.
The problems look easy, so my mind wanders. I start thinking about Rain and then I can’t stop thinking about her. This makes me feel sad so I decide to count all the prime numbers on the first page.
“Twenty-three!” I announce to Mrs. Leibler. The room is silent except for my voice. “Twenty-three prime numbers just on this page, and guess what? Twenty-three is a prime number too.”