Page 9 of They Call Her Dirty Sally

“Well, I better get to bed,” Mr. Bailey says, much to my disappointment. It’s late, hardly the time for a walk back down memory lane, but the missed opportunity hits with force. It’s been a while since I’ve talked about my parents to anyone who knew them, even longer since I’ve been relegated with tales of their growing-up years. The subject was mostly avoided, taboo for reasons I didn’t recognize as a child or understand as an adult. And that split-second troubled look on Mr. Bailey’s face…it appeared for a reason; one I’m determined to ask about.

“Maybe I could come to your place while I’m here to ask you about the fire?” I say, desperation for another opportunity propelling the question forward. I’m too eager, and I know it.

Mr. Bailey just nods. “Billi’ll tell you where I live,” he says before tipping his hat and walking out the door. “Goodnight to you both.” The door closes behind him, leaving Billi and me alone, along with a sleeping toddler, an array of dirty coffee mugs, and three empty bags of microwave popcorn. I begin to gather it all up, tossing the bags away one by one and holding the mugs in a ring by the handles.

“Where do you want these?” I ask, raising them for her inspection.

“Just set them on the desk,” she says, slowly pacing the floor with the slumbering child.

“When do you think his mom will be back?” I say, not wanting to leave her alone. What if he cries? What if she needs help?

She smiles so softly it barely registers. “She won’t be long. As long as I keep walking, he’ll stay asleep.”

“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

The smile grows, blooming right along with an odd warmth inside my gut. “You have no idea how many times. I’ll be okay here if you want to go.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I nod. “Alright, I’m tired.” I watch her for a moment, wondering how to circle back tactfully. “Yes,” I sigh, deciding to just come out with it. “I would like your help. Something tells me people would be more willing to talk to me with you along. If you don’t mind, that is.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Should I help you?” She muses in a loud whisper, staring right at me until she eyes that silly Magic 8-Ball, silently directing me to pick it up. I do with a sigh, then shake it halfheartedly with one hand like I’m daring her to criticize me, then set it down on the desk. Her eyes don’t leave my face until a few seconds later.

“What’s it say?” she asks. The bored look I give her is intentional as I pick up the ball and read for myself. “It says ‘Without a doubt.’ Interesting. Seems this ball really wants you to help me.”

“Maybe it’s broken. So, when do you want to start?”

I bite back a smile and make a note not to discount her help again. “Tomorrow? Any time that works best for you.”

“Meet me here at ten, and we’ll go. I’ll drive,” she says. I start to protest, to tell her I have a car that we may as well use. But something stops me, mainly the idea that arguing with Billi is a lost cause not worth fighting for. People seem to like her. I could use the help, and let’s face it…I’m intrigued.

“Alright. Maybe we could start with him?” I ask, nodding toward the door that Mr. Bailey just walked through.

“Okay.” It’s all she says before continuing to pace the room. I take it as my cue to leave. All this talking might wake the child up.

Back in my room, as I get ready for bed, the evening replays through my mind like a line of a lyric stuck on repeat.

Who is Paul, and why have I never heard of him?

And what about Sally?

Worse, why does the mention of her name have me suddenly on edge?

5

Billi

For most women, having five boys lined up eagerly awaiting your love and affection while loudly panting with undying devotion might be the stuff fantasies are made of, but for me, it’s just a normal Tuesday morning.

“Guys, hang on a second. I’ll get to you soon enough, but I need you to be patient for now. Larry, settle down. All that whining won’t get you anywhere with me. And Jack, you’re making a mess all over the floor. Stop jumping around and lie down on the mat. I’ll get to you in a second. And Travis—” I pause, only now aware of how sexual my words sound. To an outsider listening in behind a closed door, I would probably be reported and arrested for illegal activities, and I’ve only been here twenty minutes.

There’s dog food everywhere. And the bowls…if Jack doesn’t stop walking through his and splashing water all over the floor, I’ll likely slip and fall like last time. One bruised hip a month is about all I can handle. I might be only twenty-eight but landing hard on the concrete floor of Brown’s Animal Shelter gives me visions of future hip replacement surgeries.

Reaching for the latch on the first kennel, I open the gate, slide inside, and then lock the door behind me with a cheap metal clip. I’m immediately ambushed from behind by an overly excited German Shepherd who doesn’t know his strength. Knowing I’m already defeated, I slowly slide to the floor as a tongue licks me and paws grab me in a dog-sized bear hug.

“Jack, get off!” I say through laughter. You’d think by now the boys would be used to my thrice-weekly visits, but you’d be wrong. Give a dog an inch, and he wants a few dozen yards. Give him those yards, and he’ll be dragging you on a twenty-six-mile marathon straight uphill. From the reactions I get from these love-starved babies, I wouldn’t have it any other way. “Okay, do you want a treat or not?”

---