Free 2 a.m. at the Cat's Pajamas by Marie-Helene Bertino

Rosalind.”
    They trudge through chapters six and seven. Madeleine yearns to get outside. Pedro saunters by, inquiring about her ankle.
    A word about Pedro.
    Who keeps his salt-and-pepper hair in a state of managed chaos, jutting out from four nimble legs and hindquarters, muscular from distance walking. Whose brown eyes hold the world-weariness characteristic of a bon vivant. Who is enough Yorkshire terrier to exhibit daffy wonderment, and enough Welsh Scottie to accomplish a goal with focus. Pedro hops up on his hind legs in an effort to secure the candy Mrs. Santiago is currently figure-eighting over his snout. She takes too long to relent so when she does, Pedro respectfully declines. He is a gentleman wanderer who yearns to explore. Madeleine yearns for an exit. Rosalind yearns for a lover.
    A blond head with pigtails approaches the store. Jill McCormick enters, in a clatter of bells. Seeing Madeleine, she narrows her eyes. “Did you get your hair cut? You missed lab.”
    Madeleine checks to see if Mrs. Santiago is listening. “I was there but you didn’t see me.”
    “My eye doctor said these glasses give me better than twenty-twenty vision.” Jill is a practical literalist. On hot days when Saint Anthony’s is too broke to turn on the air-conditioning, the kids fold paper into fans. Jill likes to point out: you expend more energy fanning yourself than you do just sitting there.
    “Can you see this?” Madeleine says.
    “You’re sticking up your middle finger.”
    Mrs. Santiago calls hello from behind the counter.
    “Hello,” Jill says. “I’ve come for a pound of coffee for my mom. The Sumatran. She wants to branch out.”
    Mrs. Santiago winks at the portrait of her late husband. “Daniel’s favorite!”
    “Who’s Daniel?” says Jill. “Oh. Your dead husband.”
    A plan forms in Madeleine’s mind. “What are you doing today?” she says.
    Jill stiffens. “I’m organizing my stuffed animals into color order and then I’m reorganizing them into size order, why?”
    “Can I come over?”
    Jill peers at her through her thick glasses. “Are you good at organizing?”
    “Who will read to me?” Sandra says.
    “I’ll read to you, dear.” Mrs. Santiago hands Jill a brown bag of coffee stamped with Daniel’s likeness. As Madeleine expected, she is delighted that she wants to play with another little girl. She comes out from behind the counter holding a leash, on the end of which is a miserable Pedro. “Take him with you. At least he can see some of the outside.”
    “Pedro seems blue,” Jill says.
    Mrs. Santiago nods. “His heart is broken.”
    Pedro backpedals and about-faces, snapping at the leash. Mrs. Santiago asks Pedro what he thinks of a nice walk through the market, a nice walker-oo, wouldn’t he like that, a walkeroni roo?
    Sandra says, “Why don’t you marry that dog?”
    Madeleine giggles, in spite of herself. Sandra laughs, too. It takes them several minutes to get themselves under control as Mrs. Santiago waits, unsmiling. Sandra dabs tears from her eyes with a napkin.
    “Are you finished?” Mrs. Santiago says.
    Madeleine says, “Let’s go, Jill.”
    “Don’t forget to ask Jill to come to your birthday par—”
    Madeleine slams the door.
    “You know who should go to London,” Sandra says. “You. You’ve never been anywhere.”
    “With all of my spare time.” Mrs. Santiago hoots. “Now that’s funny.”
    Outside, Jill asks Madeleine why she will hang out with her all of a sudden. “Did you want to get away from that crazy lady? One of my aunts forces me to read the Bible to her while I comb her hair.”
    “That’s weird,” says Madeleine.
    “Do you live at Santiago’s?”
    “I live on Ninth Street in the market with my father.”
    “Where’s your mother?” Jill slaps her forehead. “Oh right! She’s dead.”
    “This is where I leave you,” Madeleine says.
    Jill blinks several times. “I thought you were coming over.”
    Madeleine is already legging