“Not much,” Josh says.
“Yeah, me neither,” I say.
“Good,” says Mom. “Your dad would like you both to meet some of our neighbors with him before dinner, to say hi and introduce the store. It’ll be good for business.”
“Okay,” Josh says. “I’ll tell him we’re home.”
I’d rather not go meet a bunch of strangers after the bad day I’ve had. But since Mom and Dad both lost their jobs in Pittsburgh, I’ve wanted to help out however I can. We have to make the store work. Plus, if I say no, it’ll make Dad unhappy. If I volunteer to help, maybe it’ll put him in a good mood so I can talk to him about adopting Chewie. “I’ll go, too,” I say, and run after Josh.
“What about me?” Sophie says.
But Mom tells her, “Next time.”
I catch up with Josh before he enters the store. “Don’t forget,” I say. “You have to help me convince Mom and Dad about Chewie. They have to send a signed permission note.”
“You need help—that’s for sure!” Josh says. “Step one: Did you think of a better name than Chewie?”
“No,” I say. “Not yet.”
Dad’s on the phone when we enter the store. He smiles, waves, and holds up one finger, motioning that he’ll be just a minute.
While Dad’s on the phone, Josh and I sit on one of the empty displays and whisper ideas for less-destructive-sounding bunny names. “How about Leo?” Josh says.
“It’s a girl,” I say.
“Um, Jules, I think a girl rabbit is a bad idea. What if she gets outside? Won’t we end up with a bunch of little baby rabbits hopping all over the place?”
“I’d make sure she stays safe inside the house. And anyway, I have a coupon to get her spayed.”
“At Dr. Mac’s?” Josh asks.
“Yes, but I was thinking maybe I could take her to the shelter instead of to Dr. Mac.”
“I thought you were going to fix that whole Maggie situation?”
“I tried,” I whisper. “It didn’t work out.”
By the time Dad gets off the phone, our final name choices are on a list tucked into my pocket for safekeeping: Cinnamon, Cuddles, Mrs. Dandelion, Auntie Whiskers, and Hip-Hop. Josh thinks Cuddles is our best chance. I prefer Auntie Whiskers or Mrs. Dandelion. Still, Cuddles sounds the tamest. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a sweet bunny named Cuddles?
“Okay,” Dad says, finally hanging up the phone. “Time to be neighborly. I’ve got a list of the local merchants I’d like to give flyers to today about our grand opening. We’ll start together so you’ll get the idea, then I think we’ll need to divvy up the list in order to reach everyone. I promised your mother we’d be back in time for dinner. Are you ready to meet and greet?”
Josh and I nod. Dad hands us each a folder full of flyers and grabs a canvas bag full of yardsticks with “WRENCHES & ROSES” and the store phone number and address printed on them.
Ready or not, here we go.
The copy shop is the first place we stop. Dad’s a pro. He made the flyers there, so he already knows the owners.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m back. I want you to meet my kids.” He introduces us, tells them about the grand-opening sale, and asks if he can leave a few flyers and some 15-percent-off coupons on their bulletin board.
For forty-five minutes, the three of us drop in together at the craft store, a women’s clothing store, and a Laundromat. Dad introduces us again and again, and asks each neighbor if they need him to carry any particular items in our new store.
“We’re here to help,” Dad says. “Just let me know what you need.” He gives everyone his business card, a flyer, and a free yardstick. Dad is super good at being friendly. Josh smiles, answers questions, and tells everybody how much he likes Ambler. I just stand there, listening and nodding, and trying to smile without looking too fake.
“Great job, you two,” Dad says as we leave the deli.
“I think you get the idea,” he says. “Just be friendly, introduce yourself, and tell them briefly about Wrenches and Roses. Give them a free yardstick no matter what. Got it?”
Josh and I nod.
“Okay,” Dad says. “Josh, see if you can hit these three shops on the other side of the street. Jules, how about you drop in on the bakery and the yoga studio—”
“Wait,” I say, “aren’t Josh and I going together?”
“No,” Dad says, smiling and handing me a couple of yardsticks. “Not enough time. Divide and conquer—you can do it, Jules. Let’s all meet in front of the sporting goods store one block down—in fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Josh says, heading across the street with his list and yardsticks.
“Okay,” I say. I pause and take a deep breath. I do not want to disappoint Dad. This is a family business and I can do this.
I’m still telling myself, I can do this, I can do this as I push open the door of the yoga studio.
New age music is playing quietly in the background, and the door squeaks closed behind me. There’s a yoga class going on beyond the curtain in the next room. I don’t want to interrupt the class, but a slim woman in a purple tank top and black yoga pants gets up from her mat in the back of the room and asks if she can help me.
“Are you interested in joining our class?” she whispers.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to introduce myself.”
The woman smiles and raises her eyebrows. I can do this, I can do this.
I smile back at her. “I’m Jules and my mom and dad bought the hardware store. It’s a family business—Wrenches and Roses. We have garden stuff, too.” I’m not sure what to say next, so I reach for the flyers. “We’re having an opening sale. Here’s a flyer and a discount coupon if there is anything you or your yoga studio needs.”
“Thanks,” she says, tucking the flyer and coupon under the counter.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say, juggling the remaining flyers and coupons. “Here’s a free . . .” Oh no, I drop the two yardsticks and they go clattering to the floor. “Sorry, sorry. A free yardstick,” I say, picking them up and giving her one.
“Thank you. And bye now,” she says in a quiet but firm voice.
I tiptoe toward the door, gripping the last yardstick so I don’t drop it. I try to open the door quietly, but it has a loud squeak. I think about telling her that our store carries a great spray that stops squeaks, but I leave before I make any more noise.
Three buildings down, the bakery is full of customers and lots of noise, thank goodness. It smells great, too. I wish I’d brought some money. I’d buy a fresh baguette for dinner to surprise Mom. I stand there, breathing in the great aroma of freshly baked bread. That and the warmth relaxes me.
I can do this, I tell myself again when a man behind the counter asks what I need. I introduce myself and tell him about Wrenches & Roses and give him the flyer, coupon, and yardstick.
“Thank you, my dear,” he says. “I’m glad someone is opening the hardware store again. Bread stick?” He offers me one covered in sesame seeds.
“Oh, no thank you,” I say.
He frowns. “No one turns down Mario’s bread sticks. It hurts my feelings.”
“It looks great, and smells even better,” I say. “I just didn’t bring any money.”
“For you, Jules, a free bread stick,” he says with a big smile. He hands it to me over the counter. “You gave me a lovely measuring stick, after all. Besides, I insist.”
“Okay, thanks!” I say.
“Take a bite. How is it?”
“Perfect,” I say, chewing. Now I’m smiling, too. I guess I can meet people after all. “You know,” I say between bites, pointing at the torn window screen behind Mario and the upper window, which is propped open with a wooden spoon, “Wrenches and Roses se
lls screening, and my dad knows how to repair everything. He sells all the hardware and can tell you how to fix stuff.”
“You are a good salesperson,” Mario says. “Your family business will do well.”
“I hope so,” I say. “Thanks. And come by the store anytime.”
“I will,” Mario says. “I will.”
Wow, that went so much better than the yoga studio. I can’t wait to tell Dad and Josh.
When I get to the sporting goods store one block down, Dad is waiting outside, and Josh is just coming out of the door.
“How’d it go?” Dad asks me.
“The yoga studio—so-so, but the bakery was great. Mario, the owner, was super nice.”
Dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re both really helping,” he says. “Now just one more stop on my list. It’s on the way home. We can all go together. I saved the best for last—the veterinary clinic.”
The veterinary clinic? Ugh, that’s got to be Maggie MacKenzie’s grandmother’s clinic. And Sunita told me Maggie lives there. Dad is in a great mood now and I want to keep helping, but I can’t risk ruining everything with another run-in with Maggie.
Chapter Eight
I’ll skip the vet’s,” I say. “I need to head home and get started on my homework.”
“Oh, come on, Jules,” Dad says. “I know how much you love animals—maybe there will be some you can pet.” He’s heading up the walkway to the clinic.
A sign out front says
DR. MAC’S PLACE
DR. J. J. MACKENZIE
Three run-ins with Maggie are enough for one day. I can’t handle another. Plus, I doubt having the veterinarian’s granddaughter hate me is good for Mom and Dad’s business. They’ll probably find out sooner or later, but I’d rather avoid their disappointment today.
“We’ll only be a few minutes,” Dad says. “Then it’s home for dinner.”
I make eye contact with Josh so he’ll help me out of this, but all he says is “Yeah, Jules, let’s check it out. Maybe we’ll see some cats and dogs or maybe even something exotic—a snake or a ferret or something.”
I have no choice but to follow them in.
A bell jangles as we enter the clinic, but no one is there except a huge orange tabby half asleep on the counter. He looks up at us, blinks his eyes as if he is bored with our company, then curls back up again.
“Hello,” Dad calls out.
A big old basset hound galumphs in from a side room to greet us. I stay behind Josh, near the front exit, eyeing the door the basset hound came from. Maggie could be right behind him.
“Hello, buddy,” Josh says, bending to pet the dog.
Still, no one comes out. “Well, let’s just sit and wait a few moments,” Dad says, sitting in one of the waiting room chairs.
“No, we’d better go,” I say. “They’re probably already closed.”
“It’s only five forty-five,” Dad says. “The sign says they are open until six, the door was unlocked, and the lights are all on.”
The basset comes to sniff my ankles, wagging his tail. He leans against my legs and looks up at me with his big, sad eyes. He’s kind of drooly, but cute. I can’t help myself—I have to give him some pats. Then some rubs around his ears. He loves it and lies on his side, so I give him a good belly rub.
Down the hall, a door labeled Dolittle Room opens, and David Hutchinson, the kid who showed Josh around school, pokes his head out. He’s cradling something tiny wrapped in a towel against his chest. A tiny squeak comes from the bundle.
“Oh hi,” David says, smiling when he sees Josh. “Dr. Mac is a little busy right now. Is there an emergency?”
“No, no, not at all,” Dad says, standing up. “Take your time. We just wanted to stop in and say hello. We can come back tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell Dr. Mac you’re here,” David says. He disappears back into the exam room, but he keeps the door open. The basset hound rolls over to his feet and makes his rounds to Dad. The dog wags his tail and looks up expectantly until Dad gives him some pats and ruffles his long ears.
I hear more tiny squeaks from the room. I want to look in, but I don’t want to see Maggie or have her see me. Josh walks slowly toward the open door. I nudge him forward and whisper, “Give me a signal if Maggie’s in there.”
As Josh gets closer to the door, a tall woman with short white hair, glasses, and blue eyes comes out to the hallway. She’s holding a tiny gray kitten with its eyes still closed, wrapped in a towel, too. “I’m Dr. Mac,” she says.
Dad introduces all three of us.
“David tells me you bought the hardware store?” Dr. Mac says. “And I see Sherlock Holmes is saying hello,” she adds, nodding toward the old basset hound, who is licking my hands and won’t leave my side. He’s so affectionate.
“My daughter has a way with animals,” Dad says.
“A sixth sense,” Josh pipes in.
“I can see that,” says Dr. Mac. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
Behind her I can hear faint but persistent squeaky little mews. The kittens must be very young. Josh peeks in.
“You can take a look if you want,” Dr. Mac says.
Josh goes in. Dad and I are right behind him.
Luckily, Maggie is not there, just David, Dr. Mac, and five of the tiniest, cutest kittens I’ve ever seen. Two are gray, two are black, and there’s a little calico, too. I smell the familiar kitty smell, just like at the shelter in Pittsburgh. Man, do I miss volunteering there.
David is sitting in a chair with a towel on his lap, holding a black kitten and feeding it from a tiny bottle. Dr. Mac unwraps and weighs the one she was holding. Three more kittens are all on top of each other in a blanket-lined cardboard box, little squeaky mews calling, their tiny paws moving as they inch about on their bellies.
None of them have open eyes. They are so adorable.
“Someone left them on the clinic doorstep this morning, with a note that they were found in the high school parking lot,” Dr. Mac says. “We don’t know what happened to their mother, but they’re only a day or two old.”
“How can you tell?” Josh asks.
“Their umbilical cord stubs are still attached, and they only weigh about four ounces each.”
Dr. Mac puts the kitten she just weighed back in the box with its siblings and picks up another one. She tests the temperature of the small bottle of kitty formula on her wrist and feeds the new kitten, who paws at the bottle with skinny legs and the tiniest pink-padded paws. When the kitten sucks the bottle, his ears wiggle back and forth in concentration. His little face is too cute, eyes closed, with drops of formula on his fuzzy muzzle.
“They’re so tiny. Are they going to be okay without their mother?” I ask.
“Well, they’d be much better off being cared for by her. A mama cat’s milk has colostrum, which helps prevent infection and disease. Without their mother’s milk, they are more susceptible to all kinds of illnesses. So we have to keep them warm and hydrated and growing with this kitty formula. We’ll need to feed them every one to two hours and weigh them every day to make sure they are gaining weight. And of course watch them carefully for any signs of dehydration, illness, or parasites. They were covered with fleas when we got them, so we’ve used a special kitten-safe flea formula and combed out all the fleas. Kittens can become anemic from fleas.”
David holds his little black kitten upright against his chest and pats its back. “Burping it, like a baby,” he says with a smile. “Too bad they don’t make kitty diapers.”
I never worked with kittens this young in Pittsburgh. Those kittens always had their eyes open and could walk around a little.
Josh steps forward and asks exactly what I’m thinking. “Do you need any help feeding the others?”
I’m ready to wash
my hands and get right to work, but Dr. Mac says, “No thanks, David has helped me feed all five this time. And my granddaughter, Maggie, will be home from basketball practice any minute now. She’ll help with the next feedings. By tomorrow, I’m hoping the Feral Cat Rescue Society can find a suitable foster family or two to take care of them until they are old enough to be adopted out. It’s a lot of work, feeding them and keeping them clean twenty-four hours a day.”
I look at Dad, hoping he’ll volunteer our family, but he doesn’t. He just says how cute the kittens are and gives his little talk about the hardware store and says he’s sorry to bother Dr. Mac when she’s so busy.
“Oh, no bother,” Dr. Mac says. “Nice to meet you all. Looks like you know David already, so you’ll have to meet Maggie next time around.”
Josh smiles and says, “I think my sister and I have already met Maggie, right, Jules?”
I nod and, cute kittens or not, suddenly have the urge to get out of there as fast as I can.
Chapter Nine
When we get home, I can’t help thinking how cool it’d be to volunteer at Dr. Mac’s. But I shake the thought from my head because after all my arguments with Maggie, I’m sure it’s impossible. I’ll volunteer at the local shelter instead. Of course now Josh and I have to focus on our Chewie plan. We’ve got just a few minutes before dinner, so we have to figure out our best strategy. Sophie won’t leave Josh’s room, so we have to let her in on the plan, too.
“I can keep a secret!” Sophie promises.
“You’d better! Now, Jules, step one,” Josh says. “Your adorable rabbit is now named Cuddles.”
“Sounds good. Cuddles it is,” I reply.
“Step two,” Josh says. “We write a permission note all ready and easy for signing, except we avoid using Cuddles’s old name or her new name. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
Josh types the permission note on his computer and prints it out.
Dear Mr. Hart,
Our daughter, Julia Darrow, has permission to adopt the science classroom rabbit. We understand that owning a pet is a big responsibility, and will supervise Julia as she takes care of the rabbit.