Family Law by Gin Phillips (phonics reading books .txt) 📕

thick branches rubbed against the roof, creaking against the rain gutters.

As they walked up the front steps, Lucia again had a pang of uncertainty about bringing the girl with her. She knocked three times, angling herself more squarely in front of Rachel.

The man who answered was about her height, maybe in his fifties, with silver hair and an untrimmed beard. He wore a T-shirt airbrushed with a sunset. She recognized him: she’d seen him walking his beagles past her house.

“Hey there,” he said, smiling.

She did not smile back.

“I’m Lucia Gilbert,” she said. “I live on Avalon, and I believe you have my dog.”

The man rubbed a hand across his beard. “Do I?”

“I think you do,” she said. “My friend saw her in your backyard. An Airedale. With a name tag that says Moxie.”

She kept her eyes on him, ready for him to push back at her.

“All right,” he said, even keeled. As if she’d asked for a drink from the garden hose. “You want to go see her? She’s in the back room.”

In a few steps, the three of them were standing in a laundry room, the smell of dryer sheets filling the air, Moxie bouncing in her four-footed fashion, beagles running in circles around her, yipping. She reared up, paws landing on Lucia’s shoulders, which was always forbidden, but now Lucia let the sharp claws sink into her collarbones.

“Moxie,” she said. “Sweet girl. Such a sweet girl. Did you miss me? Oh, don’t lick up my nostril.”

“All right,” said the man, standing behind her. “I’m Marlon Reynolds. Did I say that already? That’s a good dog you’ve got there.”

Lucia elbowed Moxie gently until she thudded back to the tile floor.

“Didn’t you recognize her?” she asked. “Surely you’d seen her in my yard.”

The man shrugged. He looked, she thought, like one of the Oak Ridge Boys. “I saw a dog walking down the street. I didn’t want her to get hit by a car. I took her in and fed her and made sure she was safe.”

“My phone number is right there on her tag.”

“Is it?”

Lucia couldn’t read his tone, which was no tone at all. She slid her fingers around Rachel’s wrist, pulling her from the laundry room. Moxie followed, pressing close and drooling. When they were out of the small room with an open path to the front door, Lucia turned back to Marlon Reynolds.

“I thank you for taking care of her,” she said. “But you didn’t call me. You didn’t make any attempt to contact me. It looks more like theft than a rescue.”

“You think I stole her?” he asked in that same calm way.

“Yes,” she said, taking a step closer. He took a step back. “You took a dog that did not belong to you. That’s the definition of stealing. You—”

“I found her,” he repeated. “Her mouth was all mud. You might check your backyard. My guess is she dug under the fence.”

“The mud doesn’t mean she dug a hole,” she snapped. “She just likes the taste of dirt. And why didn’t you contact me once you found her? If she goes missing again, I’ll let the police know about this. I want you to stay away from my dog. Do you understand?”

He took another step backward.

“I do,” he said, giving a two-fingered salute. “As subtle as you’re being, I think I got the message.”

“All right then,” she said.

She turned and walked toward the front door without looking back, steering Rachel in front of her. For once, Moxie actually heeled. With one yank of the doorknob, they were all spilling back into the shaded yard. Overhead, the branches still clawed at the eaves of the house. The whole visit hadn’t taken more than five minutes.

“Come on,” said Lucia. “Let’s get a little distance from Marlon, why don’t we? Come, Moxie. Come, Moxie. Come.”

The heeling had been short-lived. She tugged at the dog’s collar, wishing she’d thought to bring a leash. Usually if you could start her momentum, she would follow.

“You don’t mind it, do you?” Rachel asked.

“What?”

“Fighting. Having someone angry at you. It makes me sick to my stomach when someone is mad at me.”

The girl looked more exhilarated than anxious. She ran a hand over Moxie’s back, then veered onto a shaded lawn, taking a short leap into a half-raked pile of leaves. She landed with both feet, bits of leaves flying around her, swirling.

Adrenaline—Lucia felt it, too.

The wind was already full of things. White camellia petals blew around their ankles, skimming along the sidewalk then out into the street. Petals and leaves, a piece of plastic bag, an insect wing. A ladybug landed on Lucia’s throat and then ricocheted away.

“A therapist once told me that I use the conflict in my work to fill my need for conflict,” Lucia said.

Rachel roped her tangled hair over her shoulder. Her dress was flecked with pieces of leaf. And some sort of red stain. “You have a therapist?”

“I tried it once.”

Rachel brushed at the leaves. “You have a need for conflict?”

“I think her point was that we all have a need for conflict.”

“I don’t,” Rachel said.

Lucia rolled her shoulders, which were starting to ache from her hunchbacked position. Her fingers were deep in fur.

“It was like a Jedi mind trick,” Rachel said, her words speeding up. “Like he was powerless to resist you. You know, back when I first met you, Mom said you were the first lawyer she called because people are scared of you.”

“People say that. Among other things.”

“Doesn’t it hurt your feelings?”

“Yes,” said Lucia.

Two squirrels ran across the street, twisting up a pine tree, chattering and ecstatic. Lucia barely held on to Moxie as she lunged.

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt my feelings that much,” she admitted. “I’ve known lawyers who hated a fight, and the stress melted them down eventually. I accept the need for conflict. You have to decide what you’ll let in, and you keep the rest out. Sometimes, you know, kindness isn’t effective. And when that happens, I can play whatever