“He’s with the doctor,” the receptionist said.

“Francine, I’m so sorry, it was an accident—”

Sean brought her a chair, and she sat beside me, unable to speak.

There was a giant bag of jelly beans on the receptionist’s desk. It would always be the smell for Terry Johnson now, the smell of his last day.

I had gotten so used to the clean smell of Francine’s house. Of the soap she used on the sheets and towels; it made me sleep better than I had in years. I liked it so much.

This is not about you, I brain-screamed. Stop crying and take care of Francine! But the harder I tried to stop crying, the more I thought of Terry Johnson curled beside me in bed, keeping me company, waiting for us to come home, making sure I was never lonely.

How many kids had Terry Johnson known? Had they all loved him? Did he love them all? Did he love me?

What had I done?

Francine’s eyes were closed.

I closed mine, too.

Francine reached for my hand and held it. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

I burst into fresh tears.

And then the doctor came out.

—

In the late-afternoon sun, standing on Francine’s porch, we said goodbye to Sean and Kira. Francine hugged them, hard. “You saved us.”

We watched them drive away, and then sat on the porch and watched Terry Johnson make his careful way through the damp grass, gingerly lifting every paw before carefully stepping on it, licking water from the grass. Still woozy, but he would recover completely.

“I left it on the table,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sure Joellen can find me a place this week; you don’t have to worry. I’m…Francine, I am so sorry.”

She stared at me, beside her on the porch steps. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d guess you were being dramatic, but you’ve been in too many placements for that.”

“I can call Joellen tonight,” I assured her.

“Muiriel. I love that dog. But he is a dog. You are a person. And I am the person who bought the chocolate and handed it to you as you were getting ready to go to work; it was an accident. You did nothing on purpose—we’ll both remember better next time, and let’s congratulate ourselves on surviving Christmas—there was a ton of chocolate lying around then, too, and nobody died. Come on. We’re not that bad.”

“But—”

“Look at him! He’s perfectly fine. Even if he hadn’t been, it would not have been your fault, and for God’s sake, I would never kick you out. Don’t you know that by now?”

The words I understood, yes. But what she was saying; that no matter what I did, she wasn’t going to let me go? I could stay until I was done, even if I killed her dog?

It had been such a long time since I’d wanted to stay anywhere. With someone.