The Dog Who Knew Too Much by Carol Lea Benjamin Page B

sticking out around her face as if she’d stuck her finger in a socket. She was wearing one of Ted’s old shirts and what we used to call fat pants, baggy, wide-legged jeans. Maybe those were Zachery’s. She had a dishcloth tucked into her waist with assorted stains in various colors on it, and she wore fuzzy slippers, black-and-white ones, in the shape of pandas. If not for the size of her feet, eleven, I would have thought the slippers were Daisy’s.
    I thought about Lisa’s mother, perfect in her gray silk dress and simple pumps. My sister used to dress like that, fussing with her hair, wearing makeup and pretty clothes even when she was staying home. Then I thought about the blond and wondered what difference dressing up would make anyway.
    Lili held her arms out to the side as I hugged her, so as not to get raw veggies on Lisa’s gorgeous clothes. Since she always complained about the way I looked, I thought she’d notice the improvement. But she didn’t. She just turned back to the cutting board and resumed her chopping.
    â€œZachery is bowling,” she said, as if I’d asked. “Daisy is sleeping over at Stephanie’s. Teddy had to go in to the city and take care of something at work this afternoon. Inventory? Was that what he said? Whatever. So it’s just the two of us.” She looked up now and flashed me a Kaminsky grin.
    â€œAre you hungry? There’s cold chicken in the fridge. Make some tea for us, too.”
    I filled the kettle and lit the stove, watching as the blue flames momentarily fogged the pot.
    â€œI thought Ted would be home for dinner.” Lillian shrugged. “He’s such a workaholic, that man. You know, I thought he’d get better as he got older, but he’s worse.” She stopped cutting and looked at me. “Sometimes I worry that something’s wrong,” she said. She turned back to the cutting board and carefully began taking the skin off a clove of garlic.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked, feeling as if I hadn’t taken a breath since Nixon made his Checkers speech.
    â€œLike if the business is in trouble and Ted won’t say. He’s so good, Rachel. He’s never wanted me to worry about our finances.” She began to peel another clove.
    I took two mugs off the shelf, put a tea bag in each, and began to make the sandwiches.
    â€œSometimes I think I should get a job.”
    â€œNo kidding.”
    â€œThe kids are always off with their friends, they don’t even eat supper at home half the time. And Ted’s been working late a lot, like last week the accountant was supposed to come at two thirty and he didn’t show up until ten to five. Can you be lieve that?”
    I didn’t offer an opinion.
    â€œIt’s always something. Maybe it would help if I earned some money, too. There’ll be college to pay for soon.”
    â€œWhat would you do?”
    â€œWell, that’s precisely the trouble. It’s a great idea, but what am I trained for? Who’s going to hire someone my age with no real work history?”
    â€œYou could always become a detective,” I told her, and then ducked out of the way as the dish towel snapped through the air.
    â€œThis is stupid. I have such a lucky life,” she said, signaling that she’d had about enough. We took the sandwiches over to the table. “Are you seeing anyone?”
    She was obsessed with me getting married. Well, I had, hadn’t I? And where had that gotten me? Where, I thought, did anything get anybody—love, marriage, having a child? Where had it gotten the Jacobses? And where had it gotten Lillian?—all her ambitions to be a lawyer instantly put aside when Ted had gotten a terminal case of ring fever and insisted, even before she finished law school, that they get married and she stay at home and play house.
    â€œThere must be some job you could get,” I said, deciding against