Interference by Michelle Berry

crumbs are and it is as if she can see them from across the room. Why does Rachel eat the muffin with her fingers, tearing it apart over her lap? “What? Do you want me to use a fork?” she says, when Trish asks her. Saucily. She’s become saucy and sarcastic. Trish is a little proud of that, but also annoyed. After all, Rachel’s only twelve. It will get worse. Actually, why does Trish’s daughter eat in the living room anyway? What’s wrong with the kitchen table? Trish makes a mental note to have it out with Rachel tonight. Tell her to clean her room too. And take the dog for a walk for once. Do something besides make a mess.
    As if summoned by her thoughts, the dog enters the room, bored. He sniffs at the little man. Then he lies down and goes to sleep. Some guard dog. Some watchdog, Trish sighs. The only things he barks at are the squirrels. Or Tom and Maria’s dog. They bark at each other as if they’re debating or chatting or passing on messages. Charlie loves it. Shouts, “Calling every pup and hound, the Dalmatian puppies have been found!” But nothing else gets the dog excited in the least. Trish guesses she should be grateful. There are some dogs that bark all the time. She can hear them at night, across the neighbourhood. Maybe Charlie is on to something, maybe they are communicating with each other. Their owners never seem to notice, either. No one tells their dog to shut up. No one brings their dog inside on hot summer nights when the rest of the people on the street are trying to sleep with their windows open for the breeze. Just because they have air conditioning and can’t hear their dog doesn’t mean the rest of the neighbours can’t. Trish’s mind is a whirling mess. Maybe she’s lucky she isn’t working on her bears right now. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Ever since the letter from the Build-Your-Bear™ Head Bear, well, she’s been distracted.
    Trish supposes that her neighbours let their dogs bark because no effort to be polite is made when you get comfortable with people. That’s why new relationships are so compelling. Take, for example, Dayton. She’s new. That’s why Trish invited her to sign up for hockey. And Trish doesn’t regret it in the least. It’s a blast. Dayton has really improved in the last couple of weeks. So has Trish. But Trish knows that Dayton will take her for granted soon. She’ll get comfy with Trish and soon Trish will be over taking care of Carrie while Dayton goes on dates.
    The man is looking around her living room as if he is the queen come for tea.
    â€œWhat can I help you with?” Trish attempts to be patient, she tries to take the edge out of her voice, but she finds it hard. Her voice is hard.
    â€œYou don’t have to get snippy,” he says, pouting. “This thing I do, it’s daunting.”
    â€œDaunting?” Hold it in, Trish. Hold it in. Trish imagines pounding him on the top of his little bald head with the dictionary Charlie has left out on the coffee table. She imagines picking him up by the back of his muddy brown suit and kicking him out the front door. She imagines cutting him up and feeding him to the dog. And somehow, even though that’s a violent image, there is no blood involved.
    â€œThe sooner we get this over with,” she says, teeth tight together, lips barely open — and she wonders why her jaw always aches — “the sooner I can get on with my day.”
    â€œSigh.”
    Did he actually say “sigh”? Trish isn’t sure, but she thinks that’s what he said.
    Knock, knock. Sigh. He’s a sound effects man.
    â€œWe got off on the wrong foot,” the man says. In fact, he bends down and rubs his foot, draws attention to it. Punctuates his sentence with the physical. The foot that was caught in the door. “Literally.” He laughs as if she didn’t get it. One laugh,