“I don’t care,” Ophelia said. “Anything’s good with me.” Her voice was friendly enough. “Teeny? Where are you?”
“Go,” I whispered to the little dog, pushing her. “Go see Ophelia!”
The dog barked. “Sh!” I hissed, giving her tiny butt a gentle shove. “Go get supper! Suppertime!”
Teeny tilted her head at me and barked again.
“Now I hear you,” said Ophelia. “Where are you, honey? You under the bed?” There was a slight twang in her voice.
Then I saw knees, then a face surrounded by tight blond curls. Teeny bounced into her arms the second before the kid saw me.
Neither of us moved. Teeny licked Ophelia’s face.
“Hi,” I whispered after a second.
“Who are you?” she whispered back.
“Um . . . the cleaning lady?”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” Time for the truth, I guessed. “I’m Brad’s ex-wife. I met you when you first moved in, remember? I brought flowers and cookies.”
Her pale eyes widened. “Wow.” Teeny’s tail was wagging hard.
“Ophelia, honey, come into the kitchen and help me make a salad,” called Vanessa. Ophelia grimaced.
“Salad. So boring,” I said.
“You got that right.” She didn’t seem inclined to bust me, or to leave her spot.
“Um, so listen, Ophelia . . . I’m obviously not supposed to be here, and if Vanessa finds out, I’ll be in a lot of trouble. Think you can keep this to yourself?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Whatcha doing under there?”
I tried to think of a good lie and came up empty. “I . . . I left a shrimp here.” I pointed to the bed’s foot. “In a few days, it’ll stink to high heaven, just in time for your . . . for the newlyweds’ homecoming.”
She nodded slowly. “Hey. You’re the one who put the skunk in our house, aren’t you?”
“Skunk? What skunk?”
She smiled. “You are, aren’t you? You hate them. My aunt and that boomer she married.”
Boomer. I loved this child. “？‘Hate’ is such a strong word. But yeah, he cheated on me and dumped me, so I’m a little . . . bitter.”
“He’s gross. He keeps calling himself a girl dad, like he’s Ryan Reynolds or something. He even hashtagged it on Insta.” Yes. I had seen that. “And he is so not my dad. I barely even know my real father. Dennis, I liked him, but he died. This guy . . . Mr. Fairchild, though, he’s trash.”
“That’s true.”
“They bought me Teeny as if that would make everything okay.” Her twang seemed to infuse all the more disdain into her voice.
“Teeny is pretty cute,” I said.
“Yeah. Except for this dumb sweater.”
“Agreed.” I paused. “I don’t suppose you know anything about a Swiss Army knife in his suitcase.”
“I don’t even know what that is.” She grinned. “I’m just a kid.”
This child would go places.
“Ophelia? Are you talking to someone?” Vanessa’s voice was closer now.
“I’m on the phone. Be right there,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re Dylan’s mom, too, I guess?” There was worry in her eyes.
“Right.” I hesitated. “He’s a really good kid. He’ll be nice to you.”
“If they even stay married long enough for me to meet him.”
Oh, yes, I liked this kid a lot. “Give me your phone,” I said. “So you have my number in case you ever want to talk.”
Her face softened. “Okay.” She pulled it out of her back pocket and handed it over, and I entered my info under Contacts.
“I’m giving myself a code name . . . Harriet. Like Harriet the Spy.”
“Who’s that?”
“You don’t know Harriet the Spy? It’s a book about a nosy kid in New York City. I bet Open Book has it in stock this very minute. I’ll send it to you.”
Ophelia smiled, and Teeny licked her chin.
“Well, you better git,” she said. “I won’t say anything, don’t worry.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
She watched as I wriggled out. I extended my hand. “Lillie,” I said.
“Ophelia. I used to be named Harminee, but that’s my middle name now.”
“Pretty.” I stood there another second, resisting the urge to hug her. It felt like she could use one. “Well. I’ll see you again, I hope.”