Lexie finally stepped out of the shadows. I didn’t see anything wrong with her at all. Tourette’s syndrome, I thought. Any second she’s gonna start cursing me out.

Actually, she was kind of pretty. Not perfect, of course, but then I wasn’t one to judge. There was something strange about her eyes. They were half closed, like she just spent an hour in Mr. Gandler’s social studies class, which, by the way, is a torture I wouldn’t even wish on my worst enemy.

Lexie stuck out her hand for me to shake. I had to move a few steps forward to grab her hand, and the moment I did, I figured the whole thing out.

“You’re blind!” I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but well, there it was.

Crawley gave me a look of disgust that could spoil milk. “How very observant of you.”

“Sorry,” I said to Lexie, “but your grandfather had me thinking you were a mutant or something.”

“Grandpa thinks everyone’s a mutant.” She kissed him on top of the head.

“Everyone is,” he grumbled.

A golden retriever much calmer than the other dogs paced out from the kitchen, wearing a harness and a rigid halter. A Seeing Eye dog. “This is Moxie,” she said, and I knelt down to pet him as he came to me. “He’ll be jealous when we walk the other dogs,” Lexie said, “but he’ll get over it.”

We put two dogs on leashes. Moxie whined a bit, as Lexie predicted, and I led her out.

“Shouldn’t I help you down the stairs or something?” I asked.

“Why?” she answered. “Five paces, turn right, twelve paces, turn left, twenty-two steps down, then nine paces to the door.”

She navigated the stairs with confidence.

We crossed the street and walked the sidewalk that lined the bay so we wouldn’t have to cross any more streets. Lexie held my arm as we walked a slow measured pace, with Prudence and Envy tugging on their leashes, and I silently wished I had lifted weights more, because she was holding on to my nearly nonexistent left bicep. I kept waiting for her to make a crack about it.

“So, how much is my grandfather paying you to entertain me?” she asked.

“Paying me? Why would he be paying me? I’m the dog walker. I walk the dogs.”

“Nice try, but I know my grandfather. How much is he paying you to spend time with me?”

I was going to continue denying it, but I figured this blind girl could see through anything.

“Enough,” I said.

“Whatever it is, he’s ripping you off,” she said. “Ask for more.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not? Your time is worth at least minimum wage, isn’t it? And what about an expense account? Make sure he pays when you take me out to lunch, and when you take me dancing.”