5

She's an old woman, Evan. She won't want you hanging around all the time." "I guess," Evan muttered. His mother bent down suddenly and gave him a hug, pressing her cheek against his. The hug, he knew, was supposed to cheer him up. But it only made him feel worse. "I'm counting on you," his mother repeated in his ear. Evan decided to try and be braver about this. "I'll help you carry the suitcase up to my room," he said. They carried it up the narrow staircase. His room was actually a study. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with old hardcover books. A large mahogany desk stood in the center of the room. A narrow cot had been made up under the single, curtained window. The window faced out onto the backyard, a long green rectangle with the gray-shingled garage to the left, a tall picket fence to the right. A small, fenced-in area stretched across the back of the yard. It looked like some sort of dog run. The room smelled musty. The sharp aroma of mothballs invaded Evan's nose. Trigger sneezed. He rolled onto his back, his legs racing in the air. Trigger can't stand this place either, Evan thought. But he kept his thought to himself, smiling bravely at his mother, who quickly unpacked his suitcase, nervously checking her watch. "I'm late. Don't want to miss my plane," she said. She gave him another hug, longer this time. Then she took a ten-dollar bill from her pocketbook and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. "Buy yourself a treat. Be good. I'll hurry back as fast as I can." "Okay. Bye," he said, his chest feeling fluttery, his throat as dry as cotton. The smell of her perfume momentarily drowned out the mothballs. He didn't want her to leave. He had such a bad feeling. You're just scared, he scolded himself. "I'll call you from Atlanta," she shouted as she disappeared down the stairs to say good-bye to Kathryn. Her perfume disappeared. The mothballs returned. Trigger uttered a low, sad howl, as if he knew what was happening, as if he knew they were being abandoned here in this strange house with the strange old woman. Evan picked Trigger up and nose-kissed his cold, black nose. Putting the dog back down on the worn carpet, he made his way to the window. He stood there for a long while, one hand holding the curtains aside, staring down at the small, green yard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. After a few minutes, he heard his mother's car back down the gravel drive. Then he heard it roll away. When he could no longer hear it, he sighed and plopped down on the cot. "It's just you and me now, Trigger," he said glumly. Trigger was busily sniffing behind the door. Evan stared up at the walls of old books. What am I going to do here all day? he asked himself, propping his head in his hands. No Nintendo. No computer. He hadn't even seen a TV in his great-aunt's small living room

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