In Shelby’s old neighborhood the trees are so big they meet in the middle of the street to form a bower. The new people are in her house and they’ve repainted; it’s yellow, a color Shelby’s mom never would have chosen. Sue Richmond preferred the basics: gray with a white trim. Shrubs have been planted, and the driveway has been re-tarred. When Shelby climbed out her window to wander through town, she always avoided Helene’s street, except for the cold night when she and Ben sat under Helene’s window, and then again the day her mother insisted she drive her here. The first time she came to Helene’s house she was in second grade. They were best friends from the moment they met. Shelby noticed Helene’s house was smaller than hers, even though Helene had two older brothers. Helene’s father had made the basement into a bedroom for the boys, and Helene had an upstairs bedroom all to herself. I’m the favorite, she told Shelby, who marveled at her confidence, even back then. Shelby was an only child and she didn’t feel like the favorite, not until her mother was dying. I never want to stop watching over you, Shelby’s mother had told her, and then she wondered why it had taken her so long to know she was loved.
Shelby parks across the street from the Boyds’. People still make pilgrimages to see Helene, but she certainly didn’t cure Shelby’s mother, although Sue said she felt healed after her visit. She said she could feel Helene’s spirit. Helene’s brothers have families of their own; it’s just her mom and dad who take care of her along with a series of volunteer caregivers who are still dedicated to Helene. Shelby has done the research on Helene’s injuries in the medical library at school. She knows that Helene’s vertebrae were broken, that her windpipe was crushed, and part of her skull was smashed. There was no oxygen to her brain for at least seven minutes. Helene will never come back. Shelby knows it’s true in theory, but she needs to make sure that a miracle is out of the question.
Bill Boyd is on his front lawn pulling weeds from the border of lilies. As soon as she spies him Shelby feels like turning the car around. He sent her candy on her birthday one year. He sent a card that said she could come visit anytime, but she never responded. It’s too late to leave. She’s already pulled over to the curb and the window is open and the dogs start barking when they see Mr. Boyd. He turns and stares at the 4Runner. Shelby can tell he’s squinting to see if he recognizes the driver. Clearly he doesn’t. How could he? Shelby’s a grown woman with a car filled with dogs, not the girl who used to sleep on a rollaway cot in -Helene’s bedroom.
“Hey, Mr. Boyd.” Shelby waves. Helene’s father walks to the edge of the lawn, still staring. Zero recognition, so she calls out, “It’s me. Shelby.”
She half expects Mr. Boyd to cross the street and spit on the ground. As he approaches, she gets out of the car and steels herself for whatever happens next.
“Shelby? Is that you?” Mr. Boyd looks old. Shelby must have been in his house a thousand times, and yet she barely recognizes him. “You look exactly the same,” he remarks.
Shelby almost smiles. “No, I don’t.”
“You do!” Mr. Boyd gazes past her into the 4Runner. “Geez. You’ve got a lot of dogs, kiddo.”
“Only three.” Shelby laughs. It’s an insincere, nervous laugh. “I had four, but I lost one.”
“Maybe they need to pee,” Mr. Boyd says.
“They probably do.”
“Come on. You can let them out in the backyard.”
“Are you sure? They’ll pee on your grass.”
“That’s the point, Shelby. They look like they could use a run.”
Shelby clips leashes on Pablo and Buddy and lets them jump out. Then she lifts the General up. The General doesn’t need a leash. He’s a leader, not a follower.
“Any more in there?” Bill Boyd jokes. The General goes right over, as though Mr. Boyd were an old friend. “Hey there, pal,” Bill says.
Shelby follows Mr. Boyd and the General across the street, then up the driveway to the back gate. She feels dizzy. She’s not sure what constitutes a miracle. Will Helene rise from her bed? Will the roses on the wallpaper bloom and bees stream in through the windows? Shelby’s heart is beating so fast she stops in her tracks.
“It’s okay,” Mr. Boyd says when he sees her hesitation.
Pablo takes the opportunity to urinate on the wishing-well decoration at the side of the driveway. It’s where pilgrims drop little slips of paper with their wishes written down.
“Geez,” Mr. Boyd says. “He pees like a horse.”
“He’s a Great Pyrenees.” Shelby’s eyes are burning. “Mr. Boyd,” she says, and then she just clams up.
“It’s okay, Shelby. I know you’re sorry. I never held you accountable. Well, maybe that first night, but I think I went crazy then. Come on in the backyard.”
Shelby follows Mr. Boyd through the gate. She lets the dogs off their leads. They’ve been in the car all morning and are happy to explore. She still misses Blinkie, and sometimes, in the middle of the night, she thinks she feels him beside her.
“I always wanted a dog,” Mr. Boyd says.
“So did my mother. She got Buddy four months before she died. He’s the poodle. She made me promise I’d take him after she was gone.”
“Oh, I know Buddy,” Mr. Boyd says. “Your mom used to bring him with her to visit Helene.”
“I didn’t know that,” Shelby says.
“I’m sorry about your mom, Shelby. You couldn’t find a nicer lady.”
They are quiet for a moment, thinking about Shelby’s mother and Helene and how unfair the world can be.
“So what happened to you?” Mr. Boyd says. “Afterward.”
“I had a nervous breakdown. Then I moved to the City and worked in a pet store. Then I went to college. Now I’m moving to California to go to vet school.”
“Seriously? No kidding! That’s a surprise.”