After she’d eaten two bowls of soup and a chunk of cheese, she washed up her dishes, a habit her mother had instilled in her from childhood. “In a trailer this size, there’s no room for clutter,” she’d said so many times that Liz couldn’t count them.

She went back to the living room, found the light switch and flipped it on, then brought in the first load of her things. Four doors opened off the hallway. Haskell’s bedroom was the first on the right, across the hall from the bathroom, and swept clean. Not even a lonesome old dust bunny scampered into the corner. The next two offered up two more bedrooms. One very small one was completely empty. She vaguely remembered a desk being in the room. She swung open the fourth door to find another bedroom with a four-poster bed, a dresser with a big round mirror above it, and one of those old-time vanities with a velvet bench that pulled up to a three-sided mirror. The bed looked like it covered an acre and made her feel small when she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on it.

The wind brushed a tree limb across the window screen and Hooter set up a long, low, lonesome howl right under the window. It sounded as if he were mourning the loss of his master, which sent chill bumps dancing up and down Liz’s arms. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hurried back down the hall, through the kitchen, and slung open the back door.

“What is it, old boy?” she asked.

If dogs could grin, Hooter did. He lowered his head and marched into the house, across the kitchen floor, and past the recliner in the living room. He smelled the cowhide rug, turned around three times before snuggling down for a nap. Liz had been so busy watching the process that she hadn’t realized Blister had snuck in with Hooter until the cat brushed past her leg. She jumped straight up and let out a screech, her heart pounding so hard that she threw a hand on her chest to keep it from jumping out on the floor and shooting past her so fast that it would rival the cat.

Blister slowed down before she reached the recliner and touched noses with Hooter before settling down on the back of the chair like a fur collar on a fancy winter coat.

They both looked up at her mournfully as if asking why she didn’t join them, but she shook her head. “I’ve got to haul suitcases and boxes into the house. I don’t have time to sit around and watch television but thank you for the invitation. After I unpack, maybe I’ll take you up on it later this evening.”

Put them outside. Do not pet them or let them stay in the house. You’ll get attached and it will make leaving even harder. You know what happened that time I was gone for two days, and you hid that kitten in the trailer, her mother’s voice argued with her.