Page 4 of Home Body
The door behind Kenyon creaked as it cracked open. A curly-topped redhead with large eyes framed by pink glasses peeked in and stared her down. The door opened all the way and the little girl, about five, shuffled in. A Sheltie, with rusty-red fur that matched the girl’s hair, ambled in, too. The dog had a white stripe between its eyes, a bushy white ruff, and white feet making it a small version of Lassie of movie and TV fame.
“Well, hello.” Kenyon tossed out a wave. “I’m Kenyon. What’s your name?”
“Rose.”
“Ah. That’s a pretty name.”
“This is Rover.” Rose pointed at the dog.
“Hello, Rover.” That didn’t seem like an appropriate name for a Sheltie, a sheep herding dog, but Kenyon last that pass.
The dog took a step forward at the mention of its name but stopped short of the stranger.
“Rose, is this your room?”
A hearty nod made the child’s glasses slip down her perky nose. She shoved them back up.
“Thank you so much for letting me sleep here. Your bedroom is very pretty. I hope you had a nice place to sleep, too.”
The nod again and another shove of the glasses. “I slept with Mommy. Her room is pretty, too. Are you feeling better? Mommy tol’ us how you di’nt feel good at her res-trant, so she brought you here.”
That bit of information took a twirl in Kenyon’s mind and landed on awareness. Okay. The child thought her mom worked at a restaurant. Good move for a mother who was a stripper. Then the memory hit – on the way here she’d promised the woman she’d never tell anyone about the strip club. Never. Kenyon had been asked to promise numerous times.
“Um, yes,” she fibbed. “Yes, that’s what happened, and I do feel much better. Thank you.”
“You have pretty hair. It’s black. Mine’s red.”
“I see that. Yours is pretty, too. And you have beautiful eyes.”
“Your eyes are pretty, too.” The little tyke smiled, revealing a missing front tooth.
“Thank you, sweetie.” Kenyon wasn’t about to tell this child that growing up other kids had teased her about her Asian American eyes. The compliment warmed her heart. Feeling as if she now had a BFF, she asked, “Would you happen to know where my dress is? I don’t see it here and I need to get dressed.”
Rose sighed like that was a stupid question, so maybe BFF had been a stretch. “Grammy’s washing it. Don’t you ‘member?You spilled something on it. Mommy put those over there for you.” She pointed at the antique dresser where a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, neatly folded, awaited next to Kenyon’s purse.
“Oh, that’s so nice of her. Listen, how about if you and Rover go downstairs now while I get dressed?”
“Don’t you hafta go potty first?”
The astute question surprised Kenyon, coming from one so young. “Yes, actually I do.”
“The bafroom’s down there.” Rose pointed down the hall. “I’ll tell Grammy you’re coming.”
“Thank you.”
The girl trotted down the stairs, her trusty companion at her side.
Kenyon went into the bathroom, a wide space with a well-used pedestal sink, chipped clawfoot tub, and cheery curtains on the window. The toilet looked a hundred years old but worked like a charm. The place had seen better days, yet everything was spotlessly clean. A fluffy towel hung over the side of the tub, inviting her to partake. She appreciated the gesture but decided to pass. Pleased to find a new toothbrush in a package waiting on the rim of the sink, she brushed her teeth, wiped away what little eye makeup remained, washed her face, and almost felt human again. She looked at her unadorned face in the mottled mirror above the sink and was surprised to see that she looked like a teenager again.
Well, she didn’t feel like one. She felt twice her twenty-two years.
On the way back to Rose’s room, an open door invited her to peek inside a large bedroom she assumed was the mom’s. Indeed “pretty,” as Rose had said, the walls were a creamy color except the one behind the wrought-iron headboard had wallpaper with a feminine floral pattern of pale pink and green on a cream background. A quilt with the same colors covered thebed. It felt clean and fresh yet as if it could have been like that for a hundred years.
Across the hall from the mom’s room, a door stood ajar to a charming, colorful sewing room and next another door was closed. It was a big, old farmhouse, built for the kind of large family people used to have.
Back in Rose’s room, she made the bed and dressed in the borrowed clothes that fit perfectly. All the while she tried to figure out what she could ever do to repay these strangers who’d taken her in during her time of need. She supposed she should be embarrassed but too much had happened for that to hold sway over her. She was so far past embarrassment she might never feel it again.
The minute she started down the stairs the smell of breakfast – bacon and coffee and something fried – made her stomach growl with urgent hunger. She was starving.
