Page 79 of Finders Keepers

I wake, still on the couch from the first rays of sunlight peeking through the window, my feet still tucked underneath me. I pick up my half empty mug from the end table and head to the kitchen. Sophie will be up soon, and I want everything to be perfect for her this morning.

I pull out the mixing bowl, trying to recreate Ms. Lucy’s perfect pancake recipe from memory. Mine never turn out quite as fluffy as hers, but Sophie never complains. As I’m mixing the second batch of batter, I hear tiny feet padding into the kitchen.

“Mama?” Her sleepy voice calls out.

“I’m in here, baby girl! Happy birthday!”

She runs in, Mr. Hoppy firmly clutched in her hand, and her eyes light up at the sight of the pancakes on the counter. “Are those for me?”

“Of course they are birthday girl!” I scoop her up, pressing kisses all over her face as she giggles. “And I have something special for you.”

I set her down and retrieve the wrapped package I’d hidden in the cabinet. Her little hands tear at the paper eagerly, and she squeals when she sees what’s inside, a brand new art set with colored pencils and markers with a conveniently placed handle to carry the case, and a coloring book with butterflies on the cover.

“Yay!” She hugs the supplies to her chest. “Can we color after breakfast?”

“We can do whatever you want. It’s your special day.”

We settle on the couch with our pancakes, and I turn on her favorite cartoon, the one with the talking animals that always makes her laugh. She’s completely absorbed in the show.

After breakfast, we spread her coloring books across the coffee table. She insists on using her new art supplies, carefully selecting colors for each picture. I love watching her concentrate, as she works to stay inside the lines.

“Mama,” she says suddenly, “can we play hair salon too?”

“Of course we can, sweetie.”

She pops up and she runs to get her little plastic brush, and I sit on the floor while she sits behind me on the couch. Her small fingers work through my hair, not always gently, but I don’t mind.

“You need to look pretty for Mr. Gavin,” she says matter-of-factly, making me blush.

“Oh, do I now?”

“Uh-huh. He likes your hair.” She continues brushing. “He told me so.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” I smile so wide, still facing forward.

“Yup!” she says matter-of-fact.

After she’s done “styling” my hair, I pat the spot in front of me. “Your turn, birthday girl. How about some special braids?”

Her eyes light up. “Like a princess?”

“Just like a princess.”

I separate her soft blonde hair into two sections, carefully weaving the strands into neat braids while she squirms with excitement and I remind her that princesses don’t wiggle, humming along to the cartoon still playing on the tv. Her little hands rest in her lap, occasionally reaching up to feel the progress of the braids.

When lunchtime rolls around, I make her favorite, grilled cheese with the crusts cut off, cutting into little triangles just the way she likes them. I add a handful of baby carrots on the side, knowing she’ll only eat half of them. We’re just finishing up when my phone buzzes on the counter. Thinking it’s Gavin checking in about the party tonight or Ms. Lucy with news about the desserts, I go to answer but see that it’s the unknown number from Utah.

Again.

My stomach drops.

I’ve been ignoring the wrong number calls but something in me snaps. The constant harassment is wearing me down. This spam company is going too far and enough is enough.

“Sophie, why don’t you go get your shoes on.” I try to keep my voice steady. “We can go down to the barn and see Buttercup, maybe even groom her.”

“Okay!” I watch as she takes off to our room.

Once she’s out of sight I take a deep breath, my fingers grip the phone tighter. Time to tell whoever this is they have the wrong number and put an end to these constant interruptions.

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